


Meet me halfway (You always do)

by Sipsthytea



Series: The Witcher and the Bard [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff and Smut, Geralt is Jack, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, I am so sorry this is sad and I got sad while writing this, I cried so now we cry together, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Jaskier is rose, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Knotting, M/M, Omega Jaskier | Dandelion, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, RMS Titanic, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Verbal Abuse, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Ships It, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg is So Done, no beta we go down like cintra, titanic! AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:47:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23921068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sipsthytea/pseuds/Sipsthytea
Summary: The voice is unfamiliar and rough, but kind and concerned, “Don’t do it…”The omega turns, eyes widening to find the face of that beautiful stranger from earlier, “Stay back,” he warns, looking over his shoulder to see the stranger, “Don’t come any closer!”However, the stranger does not take no, offering his hand and reaching out, voice dripping with concern, “Come on, just give me your hand, I’ll pull you back over.”He's advancing closer, steps slow and slam, voice unnerved and low, but Julian isn’t having it, “No! Stay where you are- I mean it- I-I’ll let go!” He offers.The man looks at him, honey eyes concerned but filled with playfulness. He takes a long, deep inhale of his cigarette before tossing it into the raging ocean.He walks closer to the ledge, his hands falling into his pockets, “No, you won’t,” he prompts.Julian looks at him, eyes angry, “What do you mean ‘no, I won’t’? Don’t presume to tell me what I will and will not do!” His scent turns sour, “You don’t know me.”The man simply looks at him, “You would have done it already,” he deadpans.or the titanic au no one asked for, but i wrote anyways.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Witcher and the Bard [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671085
Comments: 40
Kudos: 116
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	Meet me halfway (You always do)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This was a very long and time consuming fic for me to write, but I wrote it anyway! 
> 
> Small exclaimer: There is swearing, mentions of abuse, some small (poorly written) smut, this does have angst, and the characters are all out of wack. By that I mean, none of them are their canon ages, you'll see what I mean. 
> 
> This WAS supposed to be in rich text, but that took way to long and AO3 wasn't saving it so, i gave up lol
> 
> This is written for Jaskier's point of view, so, if Jaskier isn't in the scene then, it's not written. I'll talk more on this at the ending notes. 
> 
> This took me a very long time, so, please enjoy!
> 
> Thank you! :)

With a sharp click of his tongue, Jaskier tilts his head. Eyes quickly scanning over the many verses he has written down, the pen in hand trembling slightly. He reaches over, ignoring the dull ache in his bones, and presses it into more ink, connecting it with the paper once more.

He allows his hands to move, the words spilling from his soul, but he’s not as young as he used to be. These things, these mundane things, have become harder with age, proving to be difficult as his body and mind are growing older. Still, he refuses the help of his caretaker Ciri. Telling her that this is something he must do on his own, this music is something he _must_ create on his own.

As he continues to jot down his ideas, something catches his ear, a youthful voice, spewing on and on about the Titanic, something that to this day still draws shivers down his spine.

Normally, this would fly right over his head, however, this man says, “...I’m interested in the _untold_ stories…”

This alone is enough to draw the omega out of his chair, rising from the wicker seat, hands reaching out to grab onto a cane. He walks towards the small T.V, legs shaking beneath him.

Ciri eyes him curiously, icy blue eyes filling with questions, “What is it?”

“Turn that up, dear,” he gestures to the T.V, leaning forward, catching bits and pieces of the man’s voice.

However, his world comes to a sudden halt when a drawing appears on the screen, the drawing is of a young man, youthful and beautiful. A stark contrast to Jaskier now, but he’d recognize that anywhere. A small gasp leaves his lips, “I’ll be goddamned.”

****

Pavetta comes racing out, hand reaching for her husband, “Duny! There’s a satellite call for you.”

Duny turns to his wife, an arm gesturing towards the machine whirring to life beside them, “Pavetta, we’re _launching_ , do you _see_ these submersibles going in the water?” He quickly turns away, slightly annoyed, a hand coming up to rest at his hip.

However, the woman is unswayed, a knowing glint in her eye, “ _Trust_ me, my dear, you _want_ to take this call.”

He stood still for a moment, the raven-haired man weighing his options before giving in, following behind his wife muttering, “This better be good.”

They rush to a phone, Pavetta warning him, “You have to speak up, he’s kind of old.”

With an unimpressed mutter of ‘great,’ Duny lifts the phone to his ear, “This is Duny Erlenwald, how can I help you _mister_ …?”

Pavetta quickly supplies, “Rivia, Julian Rivia,” that same knowing smile on her face.

“... _Mr. Rivia.”_

Jaskier’s voice filled his ear, soft but steady, “ _I-I was just wondering if you had found the ‘Heart of the Ocean’ yet, Mr. Erlenwald?_ ”

Duny looks up, eyes widening as he turns to his wife, a smirk on her face, “I told you you’d want to take the call.”

“Alright,” Duny speaks, hand resting on the satellite phone, “You have my attention, Julian. Can you tell us who the man in the picture is?”

“ _Oh, yes,_ ” his voice crackles, a soft chuckle following closely behind it, “ _The man in the picture is me.”_

****

The loud spin of the helicopter blades fills the air. The deep blue sea sparkling in the radiant sunlight, a soft sway coming from the boat.

“He’s a goddamn _liar_!” Mousesack presses, trailing behind Duny, “Some nut case seeking money or publicity! _God only knows why!_ Like that Russian fake, Anastasia!”

“They’re inbound!” Someone yells over the noise, hand pointing to the approaching helicopter.

Both men quickly go over to the railing, watching as the chopper began to land, however, Mousesack didn’t give up, continuing his rant, “Julian Alfred Pankratz _died_ on the Titanic when he was 17,” he argued, walking in front of Duny, who paid him no mind.

“Right! That’s right!”

“If he lived, he would be over _100_ years old!”

“ _ **101**_ next month,” Duny corrected, turning back to look at his old friend with a smile. This was it; this was the big break he’d been waiting for.

“Ok! So, he’s a very _**old**_ goddamn liar!” He begins to climb the stairs, nearing the pad, still pleading with Duny to see the flaw in the ‘undeniable’ logic, “Look, I’ve already done the background on this man, all the way back to the ’20s! When he was working as a singer, _a singer_!” The angered man raised an accusatory finger, “That’s your first clue, Sherlock. His name’s always been Rivia, no trace of a change. He moved to Cedar Rapids, and then he pushed out a few albums. Now, he’s living his life as a ghostwriter, a _nobody_!”

Duny turned to him, frustration filling his body, “And everyone who knows about the diamond is supposed to be dead or on this boat, but _he_ knows!”

He shouldered a door open, ignoring the rest of Mousesack’s cries in disbelief. This was his chance, his big moment. And he’ll be damned if he’s going to let it slip from his fingers.

****

Delicately, Jaskier places his photo’s down. The photos were taken at various moments in his life, all precious tokens of his soul. He can’t go anywhere without them. He refuses to go anywhere without them.

His hand lingers over one with his old friend, Calanthe, the alpha passed a while ago, but he remembers her as strong and brave. Always had the soul of a lion, that one, a lioness. He misses her dearly but knows that he will soon see her once more.

Just then, Duny comes into the room, head bowed respectively, asking if there was anything he needed.

Without hesitation, Jaskier quickly answers, “Yes, I’d like to see my drawing.”

They push him down a long narrow hallway, the pathway lit dimly, a blue hue filling the walls. Carefully, Ciri rolls him into a room, wheeling him in front of a stand.

Inside, there is a rectangle filled with water and a lamp buzzing above it, however, within the waters is his photo.

It is aged, the sides worn down and muddy, but there it is. The photo of him in his youth, drawn in the room of the Titanic, drawn by **him**.

Allowing his eyes to slip shut, Jaskier remembers his beating heart, the intensity of his gaze, a subtle flicker to his body then back down to the paper, the silent room filled with the stroke of a charcoal pencil.

He can feel **him**.

“Louis XVI wore a fabulous stone that was called the ‘Blue Diamond of the crown’,” Duny explains, voice snapping Jaskier from his daze. “It disappeared in 1792, about the same time ole’ Louis lost everything from the neck up. The theory goes that the crowned diamond was chopped in two,” he pulls out a photograph, holding it before the elderly man, “One cut into a heart-like shape and became known as the ‘Heart of the Ocean,’” a grin pulls at his lips, “today it would be worth more than the Hope Diamond.”

A nostalgic feeling fills Jaskier, the weight of the stone resting on his chest, the weight of his family resting upon his shoulders, “It was a dreadful _heavy_ thing,” he reminisces, “I only wore it this once.”

Ciri pipes up from beside him, eyes scanning the picture, “You actually think this is you, Jas?”

An almost offended scoff leaves the man's lips, “It _is_ me, dear,” he smirks, “wasn’t I a dish?”

Beside him, Duny chuckled, “I tracked it down through insurance records,” his voice suddenly went serious, “An old claim, it was settled in absolute secrecy. Can you tell me whose claim it was, Julian?”

A smirk pulled at the older omega’s lips, “I should imagine someone named Emreis, and please, call me Jaskier, Julian never did suit me.”

Duny smiled, nodding along as he continued, “Eredin Emreis, that’s right. Pittsburgh steel tycoon, the claim was for a necklace his son Emhyr bought his fiancée, _you_.”

An exciting air spread through the small room, the scent of pride coming from the young beta, “It was created before the trip and filed after the ship went down, so it had to have gone down with the ship.”

“So that means that if he is who he _claims_ to be, he’d have to have been wearing the diamond on the day the boat went down,” Mousesack remarks.

Once again, Duny smiles, “And that makes you, Jaskier, my new best friend.”

Surprisingly, it’s Mousesack who guides him to his lost things, showing the various objects recovered from the wreckage. A small gasp leaves Jaskier’s lips as he spots his favorite hand mirror, “This was mine. _How extraordinary_! And it looks the same as the last time I saw it,” gingerly, he turns it over, “Reflection’s changed a bit,” he mutters, placing it back on the table.

There is a soft glimmer that catches his eye, his favorite hairpin, in the shape of a dragonfly. It was worn down, but still, when the omega picked it up, he could feel the wind rushing through his hair, **his** hands on Jaskier’s hips. Much like himself, time had taken the beauty from the pin, but it would never take countless memories attached to it. Etched onto the metal and the intricate designs.

His throat clogged with emotion, bottom lip trembling as he pressed it against his chest, fingers shaking around the cool metal.

“Are you ready to go back to Titanic?” Duny questions, lowering himself beside the brunette, voice just above a whisper.

Jaskier nods, he’s always been ready, he just didn’t know he had the strength. But now, being on these same waters, he was sure he did.

****

Jaskier sits through Mousesack’s forensic presentation, flinching as he watches the boat tear in two. Mindlessly listening to the beta’s explanation, the information going in one ear and out the other.

“Thank you for that forensic run through,” He trails off, voice growing heavy with emotion once more, “Of course, the experience of it was...much _different.”_

“Will you share it with us?”

Even though a ‘yes’ sits upon his tongue, Jaskier can’t help but hesitate. Could he? Was he _ready_? Was he _strong_ enough?

With a slight grunt, he arises from his chair, shocking those around him. Slowly, the omega approaches the many screens displaying the emptiness of the shipwreck. The cold waters that had taken so much from him all those years ago. He stared into the screens, watching as cameras cast light onto the deepest shadows, the broken wood of door frames, and the faded stained glass of elegant widows. Suddenly, it comes to life, and he is surrounded by the warmth of the Titanic, by the lavish lifestyle of the rich.

He is surrounded by **his** memory.

An emotional exclamation leaves his lips, hands coming up to clutch at his mouth, tears stinging in his eyes.

Ciri shoots up, the young alpha gently taking him by the shoulders, “That’s it, I’m taking him to rest.”

But Jaskier refuses, shaking his head, “No.”

If he went now, there was no telling how long it would be until someone heard this story, there was no telling how much the brunette would remember, there was no telling how much of him the brunette would remember.

“Jas, come on-”

“ _ **NO**_!” He shouts, quickly moving away from the young alpha,

In the back of his mind, he can hear the alpha, his alpha, _‘_ ** _You can do it, Jaskier, I know you can_.’**

On shaky legs he moves to sit again, sucking in a deep breath.

Quietly, Duny asks for a tape recorder, setting it down softly, voice calm, “Tell us, Jaskier.”

“It’s been 84 years…” He begins, a hand coming to rest on his chest gently.

Quickly, Duny reassures him, “It’s ok, just try to remember anything, anything at all.”

Jaskier smiles, a coy tone playing on his words, “Do you want to hear this or _not_ , Mr. Erlenwald.”

Once again, the room goes quiet, all leaning into the old omega’s words, drinking them in.

“It’s been _84_ years,” he states, eyes shining with youth and nostalgia, “...but I can still smell the fresh paint. The china had never been used; the sheets had never been slept in. Titanic was called the ‘ship of dreams.’ And it was… it really was.”

****

The streets around the ship came to life, loud cheers and excited scents scattered the wind. The most dazzling sky and the most beautiful sea. Titanic stood before the world with pride. They deemed it unsinkable, a beauty to behold. The strong ship gleaming in the sun, smooth steel and paint, radiating elegance and class. However, Julian was not impressed.

As he stepped out of his car, the sun shone on his face, dancing along his skin, the warm breeze of the sea kissing him lightly, the taste of sea salt hung low in the air. However, despite being surrounded by hordes of people, Julian couldn’t feel more alone.

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about, it doesn’t _look_ any bigger than the Mauretania,” he quipped, turning to look at his fiancé.

A tall and dashing alpha, _powerful_ , born from old money and morphed into a monster. He answered, “You can be judgmental about _some_ things, Julian, but not about Titanic,” he gestured to the enormous ship with his umbrella, “It’s over a hundred feet _longer_ than Mauretania, and _far_ more luxurious.”

Emhyr helped Julian’s mother down, offering the older omega a hand, muttering to her, “Your son is a hard omega to please, Marie.”

The woman just laughs, “So, this is the ship they say is unsinkable…”

She walks forward, posture held high, back straight, pride and poise spilling from her. It made Julian wretch.

“It is unsinkable,” Emhyr proclaimed, “God himself could not sink this ship - shit. _What_?”

While his fiancée was busy, Julian allowed himself to look around, taking in the sights of others. Of lovers kissing each other goodbye, of mothers tearily waving at their children aboard the ship, at friends cheering and rooting for those they know. He allowed the excitement and faith pulse within him before being drawn back to reality, Emhyr snaking an arm through Julian’s elbow, holding him close.

The alpha’s touch made Julian wince away, he _hated_ this man, he _hated_ this situation.

As they ascended the dock, greeted by two cheery voices welcoming them to the Titanic, Julian begged for the world to cave in on itself, for the ground itself to swallow him whole.

It was the ship of dreams to everyone else but the young man. To him, it was a slave ship, shipping him to America in _chains_. Outwardly, he was everything a high-class omega should be, poised and beautiful, humble and maternal. However, inside, he was screaming.

****

The ship roared to life beneath his feet, large, powerful propellers spinning and pushing them through the sea.

As with much of his life, the brunette was holed in a room. Surrounded by boxes and maids scurrying to unload them.

“This one?” Trudy, his personal maid questioned, gesturing to a painting of a woman contorted in an uncomfortable position.

“No, it had a lot of faces on it,” he mumbled, shuffling through the many boxes, finally stumbling across said painting, “ _This_ is the one.”

In his hands, he held a beautiful piece of art, so many faces, structures, colors, and yet, so little technique, logic, and subjects.

“Would you like all of them out, sir?”

“Yes,” he answered, resting the painting on his hips before leaning it against a wall, “We _need_ a little color in this room.”

“God, not those finger paintings again,” Emhyr proclaimed, leaning against a doorframe, champagne glass in hand, “They certainly were a waste of money.”

“The difference between Em’s taste in art in mine is that _I_ have some,” he quipped, back turned to the alpha, annoyance filling his body, “They’re fascinating.”

He placed another painting down, letting his gaze linger, “It’s like being inside a dream or something,” he remarks, “There’s truth but no logic.”

Trudy pipes up once more, ghosting her finger over the paint, “What’s the artist’s name?”

“ _Something_ Picasso?”

Em laughs, pulling himself away from the door frame, “Something _Picasso_? He won’t amount to a _thing_ ,” he chides, “he _won’t_. Trust me.”

But Julian can’t find himself doing that, ever. So, he whisks himself away to another room, painting in hand.

He enters the small guest bedroom, draped with the finest fabrics, the newest china, “Let’s see…”

“It smells so _new_!” Trudy exclaims, “like they built it all just for us, I mean, just to think that tonight, when I crawl between the sheets, I’ll be the first!”

Julian just giggles, allowing the maid to loosen his cufflinks, “Oh, Trudy,” he whispered fondly. The young omega is full of light and wonder, something that he himself used to be.

However, the air turns sour, Em stepping through the door, “And at night when I crawl through the sheets, I’ll still be the first.”

The atmosphere grows tense, Trudy looking desperately at the older omega, only receiving a curt jerk of Em’s head, signaling for her to leave. Politely excusing herself, the maid scampers off.

Behind her, Em closes the door, alpha pheromones growing strong, heady and disgusting. They are _too_ strong, _too_ spicy, _too_ musky, it makes Julian choke. However, the raven-haired male continues to approach Julian, hands slipping down to his waist, leaning forward, “Your first and only... _forever_.”

The alpha begins to gently nuzzle against Julian’s scent gland, attempting to scent him, however, Julian only gives him a very awkward and stiff kiss on the cheek. Turning to face away from his fiancée, dismay pooling in his stomach.

****

A woman came aboard called Tristina Marigold, but everyone just referred to her as Triss, however, history would come to know her as the ‘Unsinkable Triss Marigold.’ Her husband struck gold some place out west, she was what Ms. Pankratz called, ‘New Money.’ She was a kind woman, beautiful personality with a fire in her soul, Julian was actually quite fond of her.

By the next afternoon, the Titanic was steaming west from the coast of Ireland. Nothing ahead of the Titanic but ocean, great, expansive ocean.

****

“She is the largest moving object ever made by the hand of man in all history,” Stregobor gushed, hands folded together at the head of the table, a smirk pulling on his features, “And our master shipbuilder, Mr. Borch here, designed her from the quill plates up.”

The old man spoke, voice low and wise, “I may have I may have knocked her together, but the idea was Mr. Stregobor,” he gestured towards the other alpha, “He envisioned a steamer so _grand_ in scale and so luxurious in its appointments that its supremacy would _never_ be challenged. And here she is,” he exclaimed, laying down his brown notebook to thump his fist on the table, “ _Willed_ into solid reality.”

The talk passed right over Julian’s head, paying no mind to the boasting of size and pride, he found it rather boorish and barbaric, but he assumed that that was, in fact, the nature of alphas.

His nerves began to pick at him. He reached for a cigarette, lighting it and inhaling the calming air. Letting the smoke bellow in his lungs, filtering its way up to his nose.

Beside him, his mother leaned over, voice low, “You _know_ I don’t like that, Julian.”

He looked at her, blue eyes scanning hers before puffing the smoke onto her face. Watching in delight as she glanced away, embarrassed.

“He knows,” Em said, snatching the cigarette and putting it out, eyeing his fiancée warningly.

Triss was not amused, her mouth pressed into a thin line as she watched the outright sexism occur. It made her angry, but this was not the place, so she reeled her emotion in.

Across the table, Julian began to fidget with his dress shirt, finding that the collar was much too tight, the pants far too snug. He felt as if he couldn’t breathe.

It was further worsened when Em ordered for the both of them, “We’ll have the lamb, rare with very little mint sauce.”

He nodded at the waiter, only looking to his future mate after the order was already done, “You like lamb, don’t you, Sweet Pea?”

Julian just offered a fake smile, lips straining as they pulled back, anger boiling within him. _No_ , he did _not_ ; it was one of his least favorite meats. A snarky remark built up in his throat, but it was Triss who responded.

“Are you planning on cutting his _meat_ for him as well, Emhyr?” She chuckled, earning a small snarl from the alpha before turning to the two engineers at the table, “Hey, so which one of you came up with the name Titanic? Was it you, Mr. Stregobor?”

The elderly man shamelessly basked in the credit going on to say, “Yes, yes. Well, I wanted to convey sheer _size_ , and the size means stability, luxury, and above all _strength_.”

Finally, the brunette had enough, a sharp remark spilling from his lips, “Do you know of Dr. Freud, Mr. Stregobor?”

The man went quiet, eyebrows shooting upwards, lips pursing.

Julian continued, “His ideas about the alpha preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you.” He smirked into his remark, voice level and steady.

Out of his peripheral, he could see the joyous faces of both Triss and Broch, the two woefully covering their amusement.

“ _What has gotten into you?_ ” His mother hissed, eyes narrowing.

The omega shot up, gently placing his napkin before excusing himself, walking away from the stuffy air of the room, away from his mother’s eyes, away from the pheromones.

He found himself walking along the deck, eyeing the perched area of railing. There he’d be far enough away from his family to breathe. He placed his arms across the railing, letting the smooth glide of wood run against his forearms. A deep sigh left his lips as he gazed out into the deep waters, watching as the sunset kissed the waves and laid to rest below the horizon. The evening air cooled his heated cheeks, finally free from the boorishly powerful scent of the alphas and the sickeningly artificial scent of his mother.

As he continued to look into the sky, he felt a pair of eyes on him. Burning into his body, into his soul, he turned his head, breath catching in his throat. Below was the most beautiful man, long silvery hair pulled away from his face, strong, sturdy build, and piercing honey eyes.

But his beauty wasn’t what struck Julian first, _no_ , it was the way his gaze seemed to be made of pure _curiosity_ , not of hunger.

However, he quickly turned away, focusing once more on the horizon and the dripping of colors, but his gaze was so strong. It was silent and calculated, almost as if he was trying to memorize the omega. So, once again, he turned his head, allowing his eyes to linger longer this time, spotting the two women that sat beside him, elbowing him with knowing glances.

He ripped his gaze away once more when he felt the presence of Em grow closer, that grotesque smell made Julian dizzy.

“Are you alright? What’s gotten into you?” Em seethed, voice low. He gripped Julian’s elbow, fingernails digging into his skin.

The brunette clamped his mouth shut, holding in a slight whimper, but still managing a gritted, “I’m fine,” before walking away. He left his fiancée on that deck alone, finding solace in his room, throwing himself against the bed.

****

Julian sat at the table, surrounded by aristocrats and politicians. His mind filled with static as he sat there, motionless and empty. Staring blankly at the china, paying no mind to what was going on around him, he let out a slow breath.

He felt as if he was seeing his life, as if he’d _already_ lived it. An endless parade of parties and cotillions, yachts and polo matches. Always the same _narrow_ people, the same _mindless_ chatter. He felt like he was standing at a great precipice with _no one_ to pull him back, no one who _cared_ , or even _noticed_.

That night, after the alpha’s excused themselves to the parlor, laughing up a storm when Em made a joke concerning omega’s and politics, saying the two do not intertwine, and should never be mentioned around each other. Julian felt sick to his stomach. Quickly excusing himself, he found himself in his room.

He immediately locked the door behind him, calling out weakly for Trudy, chest heaving when he got no response. Making quick work of his gloves, walking to his vanity, “Trudy…?”

His breathing becoming more ragged, hands flying behind him, doing his best to untie the trainer around his waist, scrambling for the laces to no avail. Tears reaching his eyes as he called for her once more, “ _ **TRUDY**_!”

Throwing himself onto the vanity, shouting out as he tore off the jewelry on his wrists, adorning his fingers, his ears, finally pulling out the pins in his hair. Chest heavy with emotion, face twisting in despair as he tugged at the collar around his neck, Emhyr’s family crest carved into it. He shrieked as it refused to come off, lungs burning for air.

The frustration came in a storm of destruction, knocking away a small bowl filled to the brim with small rings, then pulling out the drawers to his vanity, sobs and screams coming from his throat.

He didn’t want these delicate things; he didn’t want to have this _fabulous_ life if he’d be living it as a _slave_ , a lowly **_omega_**.

He caught himself on the vanity, staring into his reflection. His blue eyes, wide and erratic, hair strewn and undone, his soul empty and drained.

As Julian stared into his reflection, retching away from what he saw, the sudden roar of the sea pulsed in his ears, a small sigh of relief washed over him, he knew exactly what he had to do.

****

He’s running, legs burning as they bring him closer to the back of the boat. Tears and sobs flowing from him, crashing into other guests, people he recognizes.

He _needs_ to go back and apologize; he _needs_ to go back and behave; he _needs_ to fix the bracelets he tore; he _needs_ to go and find Trudy; he _needs_ to find his mother; he _needs_ to be a better omega-

He _needs_ to do so many things for so many other people besides himself, but what does he **want**?

He **wants** the pain to go away; he **wants** the frustration and the sexism to go away; he **wants** to stop being a meal ticket; he **wants** to be seen as more than an omega. He **wants**...what does he **_want?_**

He runs to the edge of the boat, labored pants and cries leave him, tears falling freely down his face. Julian catches himself, chest heaving as he allows himself to stop, but then he sees the ledge.

The brunette pushes himself away from the pole, inching closer to the edge. As he approaches, he checks to see if anyone is there, a relieved sigh rolling through him.

The water is rushing below him, dark and murky waters await him. They are cold and inviting, _beckoning_ him.

As he shakily places his hands on the rail, lifting himself, crossing the railing and standing on the other side. Felling the slight splashes of ocean water splattering his face, the wind blowing against him as he leans forward.

Julian is shaking, doing his best to suck in the surrounding air, it’s a heavy air, doing him more harm than good, just like everything does, and almost lets go, but he hears a voice.

The voice is unfamiliar and rough, but kind and concerned, “ _Don’t do it…_ ”

The omega turns, eyes widening to find the face of that beautiful stranger from earlier, “Stay back,” he warns, looking over his shoulder to see the stranger, “Don’t come any closer!”

However, the stranger does not take no, offering his hand and reaching out, voice dripping with concern, “Come on, just give me your hand, I’ll pull you back over.”

He's advancing closer, steps slow and slam, voice unnerved and low, but Julian isn’t having it, “ _No_! Stay where you are- I mean it- _I-I’ll let go_!” He offers.

The omega lets his weight rest on his heels, pushing himself from the railing. His heart is thudding in his chest, the roar of the waves booming over him.

The man looks at him, honey eyes concerned but filled with playfulness. He takes a long, deep inhale of his cigarette before tossing it into the raging ocean.

He walks closer to the ledge, his hands falling into his pockets, “No, you _won’t_ ,” he prompts.

Julian looks at him, eyes angry, “What do you mean ‘ _ **no, I won’t’**_? _Don’t presume to tell me what I will and will not do_!” His scent turns sour, “You don’t know me.”

The man simply looks at him, “You would have done it already,” he deadpans.

Julian gapes at his words, “Y-You’re distracting me, _go away_!”

But the stranger just hums, coming to lean against the railing, turning to look Julian in the eye, his voice is smooth, his words are even smoother, “I can’t, I’m involved now,” as he pushes himself up, Julian finds his eyes following the movement, “You let go and - and I’m going to have to jump in there after you.”

As he speaks, he strips himself of his jacket, the material falling down his broad shoulders.

“Don’t be _absurd_!” Julian gasps, eyebrows furrowing, “You’ll be killed.”

“I’m a good swimmer,” the stranger replies, voice dismissive as he begins to untie his boots, a gruff sign on his lips.

“The fall alone would kill you,” he answered, quickly flickering his eyes to the raging sea below and the stranger.

“I’m not saying that it wouldn’t,” he corrects, voice sounding slightly bored, “To be honest, I’m more concerned with the water being so cold.”

Fear fills the omega, body going rigid, nervously turning his head, “H-How cold?”

“ _Freezing_.”

Julian considers this, mind going numb. If the fall didn’t kill him, he’d be stuck in the water, left to choke on the freezing air.

“Ever been to Kaer Morhen?”

Julian turns to him, confusion filling his features, “What?”

“Well, they have some of the coldest winters around, you’ll freeze your ass off there, trust me. I’m from there,” he explained, eyebrows flicking upwards, “When I was younger, just a pup, I went ice fishing...oh, that’s where you-”

_“I know what ice fishing is!”_

A small huff left the stranger’s lips, “Sorry...you just seem like the indoor type.”

Julian let the comment go as the beautiful stranger continued, “Well, my mentor, Vesemir, took me ice fishing, but I fell in, thin ice, and when I tell you it’s not worth it, it’s _not_ worth it. Water that cold, like that down there, hit you like knives all over your body. It hurts like a bitch.”

Julian gulped, turning away, hands trembling. Maybe this was what he _wanted_?

“Can’t breathe, can’t think, at least not about anything other than the pain,” he huffed, “Which is why I am not looking forward to jumping in after you,” he admits, face blank, “But like I said, I don’t have a choice,” the smallest smile pulled at his lips, it was barely there, the faintest curl of his lips.

“So, I guess I’m hoping you’ll let me off the hook and come back over.”

The omega shakes his head, leaning further over, “You’re crazy.”

The stranger snorts, eyes flicking up to Julian, “With all due respect, mister, but _I’m_ not the one over the railing.”

Julian goes quiet, “C’mon, give me your hand, you don’t want to do this.”

The stranger offers his hand once more; it circles around Julian, it’s scarred and worn, probably rough and calloused, but he still finds himself taking the hand. Holding in his gasp, despite being rough and rugged, his hands are warm, they are inviting; they feel like _home_.

He slowly turns, facing his body towards the stranger, breath once again knocking out of his lungs. This man really is beautiful.

“Geralt Rivia,” he introduces, golden eyes gleaming under the ship light, the faintest trace of a smile pulling on his lips.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz,” he wheezes, voice low. The monotone response drilled deep within him.

A slight chuckle is heard, Geralt is... _laughing_ _at him?_

“I’m going to have to get you to write all that down.”

Despite still being over the ledge, he laughs, a full puff of laughter. Genuine laughter, he’d forgotten how good it felt to laugh.

“Come on,” he insists, arms flexing as he pulls Julian over, but the shoes he has on, Italian leather (great for a night out, but not so great for a night spent hanging off a rail), cause him to lose his footing.

A loud scream echoes through the air, Geralt’s eyes go wide, a huff of air coming from his lips. He steadies a foot on the railing, lifting the omega upward, but Julian, terrified, won’t stop squirming.

Screaming at the top of his lungs, fear flooding through him, tears working their way out of his eyes, he grips onto Geralt’s hand, clutching the other man for dear life. Begging and pleading for him to: “ _PLEASE! HELP ME!”_

“Julian... _JULIAN_!” Geralt roars, arms tensing, “I’ve _got_ you; I _won’t_ let you go, but you’ve got to push your body upwards, come on! _You can do it!”_

Julian stills, blue eyes dancing with the gaze of those honey pools, he allows himself to trust this stranger. This stranger who is risking his life for him right now, this stranger with a curious, not hungry, gaze. He allows himself to trust Geralt.

Suddenly, Julian is being pulled on board, a firm hand clutching at his waist pulling him onto the deck. The omega lands onto the deck with an echoed thump, the sound filling his ears faintly. He can hear the rushed thud of footsteps, but the sound is drowned out by his heart beating in his throat, blood rushing to his ears. He lies there, motionless, save for the shaking, tears still streaming down his face, pants tugged down just a bit, enough to reveal his hip bone. His shirt is undone, ruffled around his waist, no longer neatly tucked into his trousers.

It’s enough for someone to get the wrong idea.

And someone does, a crew member screeching at Geralt, “You stand back and don’t move an inch!”

He then turns to his other men, “Fetch the master of arms.”

Everything that passes by in a haze, Julian being pulled to his feet gently, fussed over by the crew until finally, Em arrives. He is fuming, face red, turning to him with concern, beckoning a butler to come by and tend to all his wants. They cover him in an omega blanket, specifically designed for the secondary gender. Once Julian managed to stop shaking, he’s suddenly hit with the reality of the situation, catching a glimpse of Geralt being put into handcuffs, Em stalking up to him, anger in his voice.

“This is completely unacceptable. What made you think that you could put your hands on my omega, my fiancé?”

Geralt, the always stone-faced bastard, doesn’t answer, only casting a small glance to the brunette.

Hands reach up, gripping at his collar, “Look at _me_ you filth.”

“Em,” Julian warns, rising from his seat, unable to bear this injustice.

“What do you think you were doing? What gives you the aud-?”

“ **EM**! Stop. It was an accident,” Julian interjects, pulling the alpha away.

Em blows out a scuff air of disbelief, “An- An accident?”

“It was,” Julian claims, spreading calming pheromones to assist in his lying, “Stupid really...I was leaning over and I _slipped_!”

A beat of silence passed through them, Julian stumbling over his lies, “I was leaning far over to see the...the...um-uh...”

“ _Propellers_?”

“ ** _PROPELLERS_**! And I _slipped_! And I would have gone overboard, but Mr. Rivia here saved me,” He interjected, pressing himself closer to the alpha, inwardly retching away from his scent, “And almost went over himself.”

Em stared at him, obvious embarrassment causing color to rise on his cheeks, “ _You wanted to see_ \- he wanted to see the propellers!” He exclaimed, a nervous laugh slipping past his lips.

“Like I said, omegas and machinery do not mix,” he muttered

The master of arms sharply tugged Geralt, “Was that the way of it?”

A sharp ‘no’, sat on his tongue, but as he glanced over to Julian, a pleading look in the male’s eyes, he retorted, “Yeah, yeah...that was pretty much it.”

“Well, the boy’s a _hero_ then!” Stregobor declared, hand clapping Geralt’s shoulder, “Good for you, son, well done.”

As Em began to walk, Julian in his arms, muttering about the cold, the master of arms called him, “Something for the boy?”

With a pause, Em seemed to think. With a click of his tongue he declared, “A 20 should do it,” he reached for his wallet before Julian stopped him.

Hurt and angered omegan scent filled the air, “Is that the going rate for saving the man you love?”

Once again, the alpha paused, “Julian is displeased... _what to do?_ ” He thought for a moment, suddenly smirking, “I know,” he walked up to Geralt, squaring his shoulders as he stalked towards him, “Perhaps you could join us for dinner tomorrow evening? To regale our group with your heroic tale!”

With a huff of air and an interesting hum left Geralt's lips he answered, “Sure, count me in.”

“Good, it’s settled then.”

Julian stared at the other male, an alpha he was sure of it. His eyes traced the man, taking in the beauty of his posture, how he was ragged and yet still charming. Just then, Em wrapped his arms around the omega, leading Julian away from the man. Inwardly, he knew his instincts called for the man. For this ‘Geralt Rivia’, he wanted to know more about him, but that thought was killed as Em led him back to the suite.

And just then it struck him, this is what he _wanted_. He **wanted** someone to save him, he **wanted** someone to _see_ him. Not the fact that he was an omega, but see _**him**_.

He **_wanted_** someone to _care_.

****

The soft music of the music box filled the room, a beautiful melody, Julian loved it, he cherished it. A sweet tone, gently wrapping around him and cradling his ears, it filled him with temporary warmth. Thinking back to who gifted it to him, a nanny of his.

The beta woman was kind to Julian, she loved him. And for his 13th birthday, she gifted him this music box. It was a small box, gold trimming along the sides, powder blue adorned the outside. As it sat open, a knock was heard from the door, Julian eyed the door, taking a sharp intake of breath when Em poked his head through the door.

“I know you’ve been melancholy,” the alpha said, head cocking against the frame, “I don’t pretend to know why.”

Julian tore his gaze away, transfixing on the hand mirror before him. If the alpha tried, if he really looked, maybe he would know.

“I intended to save this,” he spoke, walking towards the brunette, box in hand, “Until the engagement gala next week,” he sat on the vanity. Snapping the music box shut and shoving it away, “But I thought,” he flicked open the latch, “Tonight.”

The omega audibly gasped, “Good God.”

Above him, Em chuckled, “This will perhaps serve as a reminder of my feelings for you.”

The velvet box opened to reveal a stunning necklace. Diamonds laced the straps, and at the center, a large blue diamond. It gleamed in the light, reflecting warmly. It was beautiful, and maybe if it were anyone else gifting it to him, he would happily accept, but this was Em. This was no necklace; this was a collar.

“Is it a-?”

“Diamond?” Em interrupted, a smug smile pulling at his face, “Yes.”

With a silent thud, he set the box down, carefully reaching in and retrieving the necklace. As he lifted it to Julian’s neck, the light gleamed, “56 karts to be exact. It’s called the ‘Heart of the ocean.’”

Julian stared into the mirror, examining his own reflection, unnerved by what he saw. The omega that stared back at him, gently reaching up to run a finger over the large diamond. It was so heavy, practically pressing against his heart.

“It’s overwhelming.”

“Well, it was made for royalty, Julian. We are royalty,” he muttered, lowering himself down. Face resting on the wood of the vanity he stared into Julian’s blue eyes, “You know there’s nothing I couldn’t give you, nothing I would deny you.”

Julian looked over. He was at a loss for words, maybe in another life. Maybe if he’d met Em in different circumstances, maybe then he’d listen. But this was now.

“If you would not deny me,” he added, sharp black eyes staring into the young omega’s soul, “Oh, open your heart to me, Julian.”

Julian studied him, watching as the sincerity in his eyes was tainted by the hunger, the power, the greed. He turned away, once again focusing on his reflection, and he hated what he saw.

A handsome male omega, fertile, born into wealth, marrying for wealth. Neatly swept brunette hair, fair skin, enticing blue eyes. He saw the beauty, but he also saw the chains. The chains attached to this necklace, to Em’s words, the chain that trapped him to this unhappiness. What Julian saw was someone broken by those around him, someone who’d lost their flame, and god, did it frighten him.

****

“It was a cold stone,” Jaskier explained, a hand settled across his chest, “A heart of ice. After all these years I can still feel it closing around my throat, claiming me as if I were a dog,” he shuddered, “If only you could have felt it, not just seen it.”

“Well,” Duny exhaled, “That is the general idea here, Jaskier,” an exasperated smile sat on his face.

“Wait a minute, I’d like to get something straight,” Mousesack interjected, raising a hand towards the older man, “You were gonna kill yourself by jumping off the Titanic? All you had to do was wait 2 days.”

With a roll of his eyes, Jaskier stood, fatigue beginning to seep into his bones, wincing at the pops heard from the movement.

“Tell us more about the diamond,” Duny begged, following Jaskier’s movements, “What did Emhyr do after that?”

“I’m sorry, dear,” the omega muttered, climbing into his wheelchair, Ciri behind him, “I’m feeling a bit tired.”

“Would you like some more coffee?”

“He’s tired,” Ciri interjected, anger flourishing through her scent.

“Wait-Wait, before you go to bed will you give us something to go off of here? Who else had access to the safe? What about security?”

But Ciri cut them off, angrily shouting, “That’s enough!”

As Jaskier was wheeled away, he threw a dismissive hand up, silencing the room.

****

The next morning, after Jaskier woke, fed the fish, he allowed Duny to ask him questions once more, finally settling to conclude his story.

****  
The next day, Julian remembers the feeling of the sunlight on his skin as he stepped onto the deck. It felt as if he hadn’t felt the sun in years. The surrounding colors were suddenly brighter, to the blue of the sea, to the glistening color of the sky, everything was so much more vibrant. Everything around him had so much more life.

He walked around the deck, leaning over to try and spot a certain white-haired man. Eventually, venturing down to the third-class deck, walking into their common area, Julian was met with sights he’d never seen before. There were people smiling, holding hands, gleaming up at one another. The air wasn’t repugnant or repulsive; it was lively and fun. Some people gathered around the piano, tapping their feet to the tune that echoed through the crowd. They filled the small room with chatter. Children chased each other around, bright smiles etched on their faces, joyous laughs filling the air.

But as he stepped into the area, the room went quiet. Scents suddenly turned sharp and unwelcoming, eyes zeroed in on him. He fidgeted under the attention, fingers twitching at his sides, the need to pull at his button-up consumed him.

As he continued to walk, carefully passing by the rows of feet and gawking eyes, he offered courtesy smiles, lips twitching upwards slightly.

Julian spotted Geralt, looking down at his folder in his lap. He sucked in a breath as those honey eyes reconnected with his, color flushing through him. A woman beside him taped his shoulder, her violet eyes tracing the omega.

“Hello, Mr. Rivia,” He mumbled when the male looked up.

“Hello again,” Geralt said curtly, rising to stand before the omega, hands digging in his pockets.

“May I speak with you?”

Geralt just hummed, reaching down to retrieve his coat and folder, the two walked out of the lounge, making their way to the first-class deck. They walked around, Julian asking Geralt questions and Geralt giving him short curt responses or hums.

“Well,” Geralt said eventually, eyes training on the omega beside him, “We’ve talked about the weather and how I grew up, I’ve listened to your shitty puns, but I don’t reckon’ that’s why you wanted to talk to me, is it?”

Julian sighed, looking down at his hands, “Well, Mr. Rivia-”

“Geralt.”

“-Geralt, I wanted to thank you for what you did,” he said lowly, conscious of those around him, “I wanted to thank you, not only for pulling me back but for your discretion.”

Beside him, Geralt just grunted, shrugging his shoulders, “It was no problem.”

With a sigh, he turned to the other, “Look, I know what you must be thinking, ‘Poor little rich boy, what does he know about misery-”

Geralt cut him off, “No, no. That’s not what I was thinking,” he muttered leaning against the railing, looking out into the great sea before turning back to Julian, “What I was thinking was ‘What could have happened to this boy to make him think he had no way out?’ “

Julian pursed his lips, thinking about the question for a moment, he caught the white-haired male’s gaze. Those piercing eyes looked through him, but not with maliciousness, with care, with concern.

The brunette erupted, “It was- It was everything! It was my whole world and all the people in it,” he ranted, coming to place a hand on the rail, “And the inertia in my life. Plunging ahead and me, powerless to stop it,” he held out his hand. His engagement ring sat heavily on his finger, the diamond weighing him down.

A surprised hum left Geralt’s lips, gingerly taking his hand and examining the ring.

“500 invitations have gone out,” he continued, “All of Nilfgaard’s society will be there. And all the while I feel I’m, “he took a deep breath, “I feel I’m standing in a crowded room screaming at the top of my lungs and no one even looks up!”

“Do you love him?” Geralt questioned, eyes narrowed on the ring.

“Pardon me?” He flinched at the question, he knew his answer, he’s always known his answer, “You’re being very rude, you shouldn’t be asking me this.”

“Well,” he muttered, unamused, “It’s a simple question: Do you love him or not?”

Julian scoffed at the alpha, “This is not a suitable conversation!”

“Why can’t you just answer the question?”

A dry laugh bubbled up from Julian’s throat, “This is absurd! You don’t know me, and I don’t know you, and we are not having this conversation at all. You are rude and uncouth and presumptuous,” he stuck his hand out, “And I am leaving now. Geralt-Mr. Rivia, it’s been a pleasure. I sought you out to thank you and now I have thanked you-”

“Don’t forget the part where you insulted me,” he added, a smug smirk on his face.

“Well, you deserved it,” He quipped, hand still wrapped around the alphas, still shaking.

“Right?”

“Right.”

“I thought you were leaving?” Geralt prompted, eyes amused and sarcastic.

Quickly retracting his hand, the brunette began to walk away, before pivoting on his heel and marching back up to the alpha, “You are so annoying! Wait, I don’t have to leave. This is my part of the ship, you leave!”

A scoff left his lips, with a roll of his eyes he retorted, “Well, well, well, now how’s being rude?”

With no witty remark left, he snatched the folder in Geralt’s hands, “What is this that you carry around anyway?”

He prayed it open, taking a quick peek at the drawings, “What are you an artist or something?” he continued to thumb through the pages, eyes flicking back at the alpha, “These are quite good actually...these are very good.”

The omega sat with the folder in his lap, examining the various drawings. They were beautiful; the charcoal captured the life of those around it, the very essence of the subject. As he looked, a photo of a young woman appeared. She was naked, “Oh? Did you like this woman? You used her multiple times.”

Geralt simply hummed, “No, she just had beautiful hands.”

Julian smiled, a teasing tone in his voice, “I think you must have had a love affair with her.”

A scoff left the taller male’s lips, “No, no, she was a one-legged prostitute back in Paris. I was just in love with her hands, her name was Renfri.”

A dumbfounded look crossed Julian’s face, and Geralt turned to the next drawing, “O-Oh!”

Once again, he turned the page, “Her. She used to sit at this bar every night, dressed in every piece of jewelry she owned, waiting for her long-lost love to find her.”

The brunette smiled, lightly ghosting a finger over the work, tracing the many beads and bangles on the woman, “You have a gift, Geralt. You do, you see people.”

“I see you,” he whispered, honey eyes locking on Julian’s blue eyes.

With a smirk, the omega straightened his spine, “And?”

“You wouldn’t have jumped.”

****

The pair walked across the deck, watching as the sun began to set, filling the glistening ocean with a beautiful orange tint

“You know, my dream has always been to just run away and become a musician. Poor but free!” Julian exclaimed. Beside him, Geralt chuckled, walking with his hands stuffed into his pockets, suspenders straining over his chest.

“You wouldn’t last one day, Jaskier.”

“I would- and why are you calling me ‘Jaskier’?”

“Julian doesn’t suit you,” Geralt deadpanned.

Julian just gaped at him, testing the name in his head, it made something grow warm within him, “I suppose…”

But then he erupted once more, “And everyone expects me to be some delicate flower, but I’m not. I’m strong and sturdy; I can handle things. Just because I’m an omega does not make me weak! These hands were made for creating music and for creating stories! I want to do something, not just sit around and be decorative!”

Geralt laughed beside him, “Then I suppose it would be a bad time to tell you that ‘Jaskier’ means ‘buttercup’.”

“I am not a flower!”

“No,” Geralt admitted, “You’re much stronger than that and much more annoying, but you’re just as beautiful.”

Jaskier paused to look at the alpha beside him. For the first time, he could smell him. He smelled of spearmint and eucalyptus, of spice and warmth. It made him roll his shoulders back; it made the omega within him keen; he didn’t smell like Em. He smelled like a true alpha.

They came to a stop, approaching the railing, looking out into the sunset, watching as the sky melted into colors, “I worked at Santa Monica for a while, with my friend Yennefer.”

“Why can’t I be like you, Geralt?” Jaskier questioned, “Why can’t I just fly out into the horizon whenever I please?”

A beat of silence passed through them, “Say we’ll go there someday, to that pier, even if it’s just talk.”

Geralt smiled, a full smile, a beautiful smile, “No, we will definitely go. Cheap beer, we’ll ride on the roller coaster until we throw up, and we’ll ride horses on the beach, but both legs, not that side style shit.”

Jaskier laughed, imagining it, imagining being free.

“You-you mean both legs...on either side...?”

“Yeah, I’ll teach you. I’ll teach you how to ride like an alpha.”

Jaskier beamed, “And chew tobacco like an alpha, and spit like an alpha!”

The alpha eyed him, amusement filling his smirk, “What? They never taught you that in finishing school?”

“No,” Jaskier huffed. They taught him how to be a prime omega, an ideal collector’s item.

“Come on, I’ll show you,” he muttered, pulling Jaskier closer, dragging him to a railing by the ocean.

“W-What? G-Geralt, no!”

He huffed as the alpha dragged him over, demonstrating before scowling at the omega’s pitiful attempts.

“Well, come on, don’t be weak with it.”

As he hacked the spit in his throat, he felt piercing eyes on his back, turning he saw his mother, “Mother!”

He quickly pulled Geralt from the rail, nervously introducing the two, “This is Mr. Rivia, the one who saved me.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” she seethed, eyeing the man carefully, scowling at him.

Those around them were gracious and curious about the alpha that saved his life, but his mother looked at him as if he were an insect. A dangerous insect that must be squashed quickly.

“Well, Geralt, it seems that you’re the one to have around if we’re ever in a sticky situation,” Triss giggled.

Jaskier let out a nervous chuckle, eyes scanning around him, wincing away at his mother’s stern glare. Just then, they announced dinner. A bugle rang through the air.

Quickly, Jaskier pulled his mother long, looping his arm with the older omega’s, “Shall we go dress, mother?”

He walked briskly, looking back with a smile and telling Geralt, “I’ll see you at dinner.”

****

Jaskier was filled with excited energy. He felt alive. Tonight, he was looking forward to the mindless chatter and the loud intrusive questions because tonight, he wouldn’t have to face them alone.

This time, he had Geralt. The strong and silent alpha whose gaze wasn’t hungry or predatory, but curious and sarcastic. An alpha who treated him like an equal, who spoke with him on complex matters, an alpha who saw him.

As he descended the stairs, he caught a glimpse of Geralt grunting into thin air, extending his hand out in front of him, the other was placed carefully at his back, mimicking those around him. A smile pulled at his lips. The man was dressed nicely, sharp black suit pulled over his built figure, hair pulled away from his face, posture a little straight.

The alpha met him halfway, offering him a small smile, those golden eyes focused on him, training in on his figure as he walked down.

Bending down, Geralt placed a small kiss to the back of Jaskier’s hand, a small, kind hum leaving his lips. The action caused Jaskier to laugh, eyeing him playfully as the alpha extended his elbow. He slipped his arm through, gently hugging the curve and grove of Geralt’s arms, marveling inwardly at the sheer size.

They walked towards Em and his mother, Geralt holding himself in a confident manner, chest pushed out slightly, and jaw squared. It made Jaskier giggle.

“Darling,” he said, reaching out to gently pull at Em’s elbow, “Surely you remember Mr. Rivia.”

Em smiled at Jaskier, before turning to Geralt, face filling with shock, “Rivia? Well, it’s amazing! You could almost pass for a gentleman!” He scoffed, the backhanded insult causing the smile to falter from Jaskier’s face.

But Geralt never faltered, eyes narrowing, “Almost.”

With a sympathetic smile, the omega tugged Geralt along, holding his arm close. They walked past many high-class pairs, Jaskier pointing out some.

“There’s the Countess of Rothes,” he whispered, head tilting to a woman beside them, “Astor...he’s the richest man on the ship, his little wifey there is my age and in ‘delicate condition’...” Geralt huffed out a chuckle beside him.

He saw the way she held her fan, spreading it over her stomach, dress loose and flowy, “See how she’s trying to hide it,” he eyed Geralt, “Quite the scandal.”

As he began to list all those that they sat with, their occupations, children, marital status, he felt another hungry gaze pierce his body.

“Congratulations, Emhyr, he’s a splendid omega,” a man told Em, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

It made Jaskier gag inwardly. He quickly shuffled them away. Triss appeared beside them, “Care to escort a lady to dinner?”

With a laugh, she hooked her arm around his. They made their way through the crowds, Jaskier ignoring the calls from his own alpha, instead of introducing the white-haired man to those around him. The ones who stared at him as if he was a new toy.

Jaskier knew that Geralt was nervous, but the alpha never faltered. Everyone assumed that he was one of them, heir to a railroad fortune, perhaps. New money, obviously, but still a member of the club. However, Jaskier’s mother was the first to draw the line separating him from everyone else.

“Tell us of the accommodations in steerage, Mr. Rivia, I hear they’re quite good on this ship,” she smirked, scent spiking suddenly.

“The best I’ve seen, ma’am, hardly any rats,” he answered dryly, face blank.

The table erupted into laughter, Jaskier smirked into his napkin.

The evening went on, everyone curious as to how a third-class member lived, asking him rather intrusive questions, but he answered them all in stride. Answering the questions that came at him with nonchalant grace, subtle hums leaving his lips.

“I figure life’s a gift, and I have no plans on wasting it. You never know what hand you’ll get dealt, you have to take life as it comes at you, make each day count,” he answered, voice steady and calm, deep and rough.

“Well said, Geralt,” Triss praised, followed by several rounds of cheering.

“To making it count,” Jaskier said raising his glass, a smile on his lips, others followed suit posting this man. This man who saved Jaskier’s life in more ways than one.

“Next, is going to be brandy in the smoking room,” Jaskier warned lowly, eyeing Geralt carefully. A smirk on his face when the head of the table announced it, “Now, they disappear into a cloud of smoke congratulating each other on being ‘masters of the universe’.”

The alphas of the table stood, Geralt with them, but that was to wish Jaskier goodbye.

“Geralt, must you go?”

“Time for me to go row with the other slaves,” he mumbled, an amused glint in his eye.

Jaskier smiled sadly at him, longing for the alpha to stay a while longer, to keep his presence close, his energy, his scent.

As Geralt kissed Jaskier’s hand, bidding him goodnight, the omega felt something run against his palm. As he opened it, a note lay inside.

Quickly, he pulled it under the table, opening it with nimble fingers, ‘Make it count, meet me at the clock,’ it read. Geralt’s scribbled handwriting, asking to see him again, much to the omega’s delight.

Quickly excusing himself, he rushed over to the clock, waiting at the bottom of the stairs, taking in the grand staircase. It gleamed in the chandelier light, delicate wood carvings etched into it, beautiful patterns, the epitome of wealth and class.

With a sigh, he approached the man, hands shaking at his sides.

Geralt turned, a smirk on his face, a glint in his eyes, “So, do you want to go to a real party?”

****

A real party indeed. There was dancing and cheers, smiles and beer. The dancing was unorthodox and unorganized, people zooming across the room, clutching onto their dance partner. Lively music filled the air, lutes, drums, and violins played fold music. The air was electric, fun, and joyful, scents filled the room, all spiked with the rush of alcohol and dancing.

People around Jaskier talked loudly, slamming their fists on the table below them as they waited for more cheap beer. Children ran, shrieks and giggles falling from their lips. It was a beautiful atmosphere. There was no care for status, no care for gender. There was fun and dancing and drinking. It surrounded Jaskier with an electric pulse of excitement and youth; it made him feel alive.

He watched with a smile as Geralt spun a girl around; it surprised him, the alpha never did seem like much of a dancer. But Geralt never ceased to amaze him, dancing just as haphazardly as those around him, but still dancing, moves sure and confident.

The omega sat at a table, surrounded by some of Geralt’s friends, a woman named Yennefer, offered him a drink, handing him some cheap beer which he chugged gratefully.

The alcohol wasn’t strong by any means, and it didn’t have very much flavor, but the electricity that ran through the air somehow made it the best drink Jaskier’s ever had. He clapped along to the music, head snapping in the direction of a sudden crash from the other side of the room. A man fell to the floor, drunkenly standing and demanding another beer, it made Jaskier laugh. Everyone here was so free, so cheerful. There was no tension, no silent hatred, no close-minded chatter. It was as if he’d stepped into another world.

As the song ended, Geralt turned to the omega, leaning down to tell the young girl, “I’m going to dance with him now, ok?”

She nodded, stepping away and wandering into the crowd.

Jaskier looked to him quizzically, automatically putting his hands up when Geralt began to pull him to his feet, “No! Geralt, I can’t - I don’t...I don’t know how to do this.”

“Well,” Geralt grunted, intense gaze fixing on the omega, “You’re going to have to get closer.”

He slipped a strong arm around Jaskier’s waist, pressing them closer, a deep flush ran to the brunette’s cheeks. Like this, he could smell the alpha so much clearer, he could feel the warmth radiate off of him.

Feeling the jealous gaze of the little girl, Geralt turned to her with a small smile, “You’re still my best girl, Marilka.”

Then, they began to move, shuffling around awkwardly until they found a rhythm.

“I don’t know this dance!”

“Neither do I,” Geralt retorted, a smug smile on his lips, “Just go with it, don’t think.”

Jaskier grips onto Geralt’s shirt, clutching the man closer, he’s spun around the room, cheerful shrieks falling from his lips, a smile pulling at his cheeks. The room around them buzzes brightly, and the pair dissolve into a fit of laughter. Butterflies swarming the omega’s stomach, Geralt is holding him so close, smiling at him so beautifully.

Yennefer appears, pulling the pair onto the elevated dance floor, a smile on her face, her violet eyes shining with mischief. The two alphas begin to dance, clapping their feet down onto the wood, eyes challenging Jaskier to do the same. He mimics them, laughter spilling from his lips. As Jaskier continues to dance, claps erupt around him, cheers and chants echoing throughout the room, Geralt hooks his arm around the omegas and begins to swing around. They circle each other, smirks on their faces.

They interlock hands, spinning, “Geralt, don’t you dare let me fall.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Jaskier.”

They come to a slow, Jaskier’s heart thudding in his chest, sweat causing his button up to cling to him, his feet have a dull ache, but he feels great. Better than he has in years, his eyes are shining with a newfound light, Geralt takes hold of his hand, pulling him through the crowd. The gesture makes the omega flush.

They spot some abandoned cups, filled with beer, Geralt hands the brunette one, taking a cautionary sip of his own. As Jaskier began to gulp it down the white-haired man turned to him, surprise on his face.

“What? You think a first-class boy can’t drink?”

Another crash is heard, Yennefer demanding another re-match at arm-wrestle, “Two out of three, two out of three!”

With a snort, Jaskier loudly sets down his glass, taking the hanging cigarette from her mouth, sucking a deep puff he mutters, “SO you think you’re big strong alpha’s? Let’s see you do this.”

He hands Geralt his coat, breathing in deeply before lifting to his tiptoes, then, rising to rest dead center on his toes. Pain erupts through him, and after only a few seconds he falls, “OW!”

Geralt catches him, eyebrows drawn together, “Are you alright?”

But Jaskier is all giggles, holding himself closer to the alpha, “I haven’t done that in years.”

Yennefer claps, “I’ll be damned, you really can party like a third-classer.”

As a new song begins, Yennefer pulls at Jaskier’s hand, dragging him along the line of dancers. As he leaves, the omega pulls the scowling alpha to his feet, “Come on now, Geralt!”

****

They walk back to Jaskier’s cabin, the buzz of the party still surging through him, loudly he sings, “Come Josephine on my flying machine and its, up she goes, up she goes! In the air, she goes! Where?!” He turns to Geralt expectantly.

“There she goes,” Geralt fills quietly, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Jaskier laughs, “So, tell me Geralt, how’s my singing?”

“You really want to know?”

“Naturally.”

The alpha answers, smirk on his face, honey eyes pooling with a glint of mischief, “It’s like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling.”

The omega gapes at him, eyes widening with feigned shock, “YOU need a nap!”

Geralt just snorts a laugh, he continues to walk, trailing a dumbfounded Jaskier behind him.

They come to a stop, the buzz dying as soon as Jaskier catches a glimpse of the ‘1st Class Entrance’ sign that hangs low on the deck. It glowed brightly, clearly, stating who is and is not welcome aboard. It makes his stomach churn.

He turns towards the alpha, an apologetic smile tugging at his lips, quickly handing back his coat, “Here we are…”

“Right…”

“I don’t want to go back,” he admits, shrugging his shoulders, gazing up at Geralt through his eyelashes.

A beat of silence passes through them, but Jaskier, being Jaskier, breaks it, “Look,” he whispers, neck craning to stare up at the sky, “It’s so beautiful.”

Geralt hums appreciatively, “Hm.”

“So vast and endless,” he exclaims, looping his arms around a pillar, swinging himself around it, “They’re so small! My crowd,” he sighs, “Think they’re giants,” and for a moment he doesn’t know if he’s still speaking about the stars, “They’re not even dust in God’s eye.”

“You know there’s been a mistake,” Geralt says lowly, “You’re no one of them. You were born to the wrong family.”

This makes Jaskier laugh, he wishes he was, but it’s his destiny, his destiny to get shipped away to a man he doesn’t love, to be seen as an object all his life.

“Do you believe in destiny, Geralt?”

Geralt hums, looking out into the ocean, eyes gleaming in the dim light, “I used to believe that destiny was just people trying to find order in horseshit, but then, I met someone,” he eyed Jaskier, a fond look on his face, “And now, I believe that those linked by destiny will always find each other.”

“I like that…” He breathed, they were so close, Jaskier’s heart thudding in his chest, threatening to come out of his throat.

“Look,” Geralt whispered, “A shooting star.”

“Should we wish on it?”

“Why? What would you wish for, Jaskier?”

Jaskier froze, he knew exactly what it was. He allowed his eyes to stare longingly at the alpha, “Something I could never have.”

They stared at one another, so close and yet so far, separated by worlds, by lifetimes. He yearned to reach out for Geralt, to have him call his name once more, but instead, he stepped away, “Good night, Geralt.”

Pain rushed through him, inner omega begging him to go back, whining at the loss of his scent around him. But Jaskier knew better, he knew better than to wish for things that were far too out of his reach. And Geralt Rivia was one of those things.

****

The next morning, Jaskier is accompanied by Em in their deck room. The sunlight dances on his skin, nightclothes lose, and billowy on his body. In his hands he stirs a cup of tea carefully, avoiding Em’s pointed looks.

The maid and butler scurry off, leaving the two alone.

“I hoped you would come to me last night,” Em says, his voice is low, eyebrows arched, a small sneer on his face.

“I was tired,” Jaskier muttered, raising the teacup to his face.

“Your exertions below deck were no doubt exhausting,” he quipped, scent growing angry, hands coming up to rest at the arms of his chair, gripping the wood.

A flash of panic runs through the omega, “I see you had me followed, how typical.”

He rests his cup on the table gently, drawing his body from the chair, spine straight.

“You will never behave like that again, Julian, do you understand?” His voice is demanding, eyes narrowing on the man before him.

“I am not a foreman in one of the mills that you can command,” he bites, “I am your fiancé,” the words are foreign on his tongue, but he stands his ground. Sea blue eyes challenging the dark holes of Emhyr.

“My fiancé...MY FIANCE!” He shouts, rising from his chair, slamming his hand down on the table, causing the china to rattle. His scent grew stronger, angrier. There is a small beat of silence that passes before them before he continues, flipping the table, “AND MY MATE!”

Quickly, he closes the distance between them, sneering in Jaskier’s face, hands resting uncomfortably on the omega’s shoulders, “My mate in practice if not by law, so you will honor me! You will honor me the way an omega is required to honor their alpha. I will not be made a fool, Julian. Is this in any way unclear?”

Jaskier is shaking, chest heaving, eyes stinging with tears, “No,” he gasps out.

“No what?”

“No, alpha,” he gasps, fear clutching at his heart, drumming within him.

“Good,” he says, voice calm and steady once more, “Excuse me.” He stalks off, leaving the brunette alone, hand coming up to grip at his chest.

As soon as the alpha is out of the room, Julian springs up, breathing labored and ragged.

Trudy comes forward, “Oh...Mr. Julian…”

“W-We had a-a little - accident, Trudy, I’m so sorry,” he crouches down, ignoring the kind words from the other omega. Immediately reaching for the broken shards of china and the spilled coffee and tea he mutters, still breathless, “L-Let me help you, Trudy!”

But the kind maid grabs his hand gently, “It’s alright, sir…”

Her eyes are wide with concern, a calming scent filling the room, and he gasps out, tears falling from his cheeks, he collapses to the floor. Gasps and sobs leave him, “It’s alright, sir,” Trudy reassures.

He wished it was alright, he really did.

****

Trudy tugged at the laces of his waist trainer, he didn’t know why he was expected to wear this stupid thing, he was thin enough as it is.

He clung to the wooden pillar of his bed, wincing as she pulled them together.

“Tea, Trudy,” HIs mother commanded, walking into the room.

The young omega stepped away, bowing respectfully, “Yes, Madame.”

Jaskier turned to look at his mother, eyes questioning. She simply made a gesture for him to turn, roughly tugging at the stings of the trainer once more. Her hands worked quickly, “You are not to see that boy again. Understand me?” She seethed, eyes boring into Jaskier’s head, “Julian,” she warned, “I forbid it.”

He simply rolled his eyes, breathing out through his nose, “Oh, stop it mother, you’ll give yourself a nosebleed-”

His mother spun him, pulling him closer, seething into his face, “This is not a game, Julian. Our situation is precarious, you know the money is gone.”

“Of course, I know it’s gone,” he quipped, eyes challenging his mothers, “You remind me every day.”

“Your father left us nothing, but a legacy of bad debts hidden behind a good name,” she whispered, eyes intense, voice shaking slightly, “That name is the only card we have to play.”

The older omega studied her son, “I don’t understand you,” she said, exasperated, “This is a fine mating with Emhyr, it will ensure our survival.”

But Jaskier was having none of it, his mother didn’t know the monster he was, “How can you put this on my shoulders?!”

“Why are you being so selfish?” She demanded, voice rising.

“I’m being selfish?” He scoffed, anger bubbling within him.

“Do you want to see me working as a seamstress?” She questioned, voice low and emotional, “Is that what you want? To see our fine things sold at auction?” She questioned, eyes filling with tears, “Our memories scattered to the winds?”

Her voice broke, she turned away from her son, a hand covering her mouth, holding in a sob.

Julian watched his mother, guilt pooling dimly in his stomach, he hated seeing his mother so distressed. But he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t, “This is so unfair,” he muttered.

“Of course, it’s unfair,” his mother countered, turning back to gaze at her child, “We’re omegas. Our choices are never easy.”

A look of compassion broke through his mother, she pulled him close, gently placing a kiss on his cheek before gesturing for him to turn once more. This time, as she pulled at the stings, Julian couldn’t help but think of this as a noose. Tying him to this endless cycle of a lavish lifestyle he doesn’t want, condemning him to be a breeder for this monster, this terrible man, robbing him of free will.

Taking everything, he learned from Geralt. He was no longer Jaskier, no, he was Julian.

****

He listened halfheartedly, as the man before him spewed on and on about the latest exercise equipment. Julian rolled his eyes, avoiding the gaze of Emhyr and his mother, instead of thinking of Geralt’s gaze. The way his eyes traced his figure, not to thirst over it, but to relish it, to memorize it and draw it. The presentation was a bore, the man before them explaining everything very slowly, running a hand over every piece of equipment.

He walked beside Borch, gently pulling at his elbow, “Mr. Borch, excuse me, but I did the sum in my head and with the number of lifeboats times the capacity of our ship, forgive me but, it seems that there are not enough for everyone aboard.”

The alpha turned to her, a smile on his face, “About half actually. Julian, you miss nothing do you?”

Julian simply smiled, but he went on, “In fact, I’ve put in these new type davits, which can take an extra row of boats inside this one, but it was thought, by some, that the deck would look too cluttered. So, I was overruled,” the alpha explained, he gave Julian a straight answer, not chopping it down.

Emhyr walked in front of them, clacking his cane on the lifeboats, “Waist of deck space as it is on an unsinkable ship!”

Rolling his eyes, he turned back to Borch, who gently reassured him, “Sleep soundly, young Julian, I’ve built you a good ship, strong and true. She’s all the lifeboats you’ll need - keep heading up, the next room!”

Julian walked behind him, rolling over the numbers in his head. Suddenly, a man pulled at his arm, tugging him into a room, he had half a mind to scream, but a scent washed over him. Geralt washed over him.

They entered the empty exercise room, and immediately, Julian was on high alert, “Geralt, this is impossible, I can’t see you,” he said, attempting to walk past the alpha.

But Geralt didn’t let him leave, cornering him to the door frame, “I need to talk to you.”

“No, Geralt!” He went silent, eyes trailing to that chain on his finger, “I’m engaged, I’m marrying Emhyr. I love Emhyr,” he muttered. The words made him wretch, he hated lying, especially to the man before him.

Geralt thought for a moment, seemingly stunted, trying to find the words before hissing out a small, “Fuck.”

But he gathered himself, “Jaskier, you’re no picnic, alright? You’re a spoiled brat even, but...fuck...under that, you’re the most amazingly, astounding, wonderful omega- ah...man I’ve ever known.”

Julian drank up the words, inner omega keening, but he couldn’t, turning away from Geralt, “Geralt, I-”

His voice rose, “No! Let me try and get this out. You’re ama- fuck,” he sighed, eyes locking with Julian’s, “I’m not an idiot, I know how the world works. I’ve got no more than ten dollars in my pocket, I have nothing to offer you, and I know that!” His gaze went soft, scent becoming so strong and yet, so gentle, “But I’m too involved now. You jump, I jump, remember?”

“I can’t turn away without knowing you’ll be alright, that’s all I want,” he whispered, face so close to Julian’s, his heart was thudding in his chest, pulse racing. His mind was filled with the right answer, with the only true answer.

“Well, I’m fine,” he said, the wrong answer leaving his lips, “I’ll be fine, really.”

“Really? I don’t think so,” he sighed deeply, “They’ve got you trapped, Jaskier, and you’re going to die if you don’t break free. Maybe not right away because you’re strong, but sooner or later that fire that I love about you, Jaskier,” he whispered, hand coming up to gently caress Jaskier’s face, “That fire is going to burn out.”

Jaskier listened, leaning into the alpha's touch, eyes welling with tears, “It’s not up to you to save me, Geralt.”

“You’re right,” he whispered, “Only you can do that.”

Jaskier lifts a gloved hand, slightly intertwining his finger with Geralt’s before pulling away, “I’m going back. Leave me alone.” He pushed the alpha away, quickly diving for the door, a sob rising in his throat.

He wants to be saved, he can’t do it himself, but he has to. He has to do this for his family, but does he want to?

Rejoining the group, he and his mother walked off for tea, and he felt as if he were back to square one, stuck in the same loop of mindless chatter. Trapped at a table discussing arrangements for a wedding he did not want, chained to a man he did not love. The window of freedom was closing rapidly, and Julien could do nothing but watch as it was bolted shut.

He turned, searching for something else to focus on, his eye was caught on a mother and her omegan child. The young child being scolded for slouching told to straighten their spine, sit up straight!

It made Julian think of those times when his mother seethed at him, digging her nails into his back when he refused to sit straight, when he refused to wear a collar, when he refused to marry Em. That poor child, they were going to face a life of unfulfillment. They will be expected to give their alpha heirs, to stay at home, to be the home.

He winced away at the memories, staring blankly at the china, catching his own reflection. He looked so defeated, so burned out, but this time, he had someone waiting for him, someone handing him a hammer, someone waiting on the other side of that door. This time, he had someone who saw him.

And he wasn’t about to let that go.

****

The sea roared around him, a cool breeze blowing his hair back, he approached the man. Geralt was slumped over the railing, staring out into the horizon, eyes watching the colors.

“Hello, Geralt,” he said, a smile pulling at his lips, “I changed my mind.”

Geralt smiled at him, a real smile, not a half-smile, not a smirk, a smile. Bright and beautiful, much like Geralt himself.

“They said you might be up here-”

Geralt cut him off, the alpha raising a finger to his lips, “Sh, give me your hand, Jaskier.”

The omega took it, stepping closer to Geralt, “Now close your eyes.”

He did as he was told, a strong hand guiding him up to the deck, steadily leading him to the rail, “Step up on the railing.”

“Ok, now, keep your eyes closed...do you trust me Jaskier?”

The omega answered, sure, and confident, “I do, Geralt.” There was nothing he’d ever been so sure of, nothing he was ever so raw about, he trusted Geralt, he trusted him with his soul, with his body, with his mind, and with his heart.

With a small hum, Geralt began to extend Jaskier’s arms, “OK,” he whispered, low, “You can open your eyes.”

Jaskier did as told, carefully cracking his eyes open, a huff of laughter left his lips, “I-I’m flying, Geralt, I’m flying!”

The wind flew around them, a great sea before them, Geralt’s hands rested comfortably at Jaskier’s hips.

The omega’s smile grew wider, marveling at the feeling, the rush of freedom that surged through him, the wind in his hair, the subtle pressure of Geralt’s fingertips.

It was all so surreal.

He breathed in deeply, the salt filling his lungs, the beauty of the sea filling his vision, but the smell and the comfort of Geralt surrounded him fully as the alpha gently intertwined their fingers.

Jaskier pulled them back, wrapping them around his middle, before turning towards Geralt. The white-haired man studying his face. This time, his gaze wasn’t curious, it was loving, it was longing.

Blood rushed to his ears, they were so close, so very close, and this time, Jaskier wouldn’t pull away. He leaned in, heart pounding in his chest, and Geralt met him halfway, he always met him halfway.

Their kiss was chaste, it was quiet and secure. The press of their lips smooth and beautiful, it made Jaskier’s head spin. He pulled Geralt closer, hand traveling to Geralt’s neck, fingers scraping against his scent gland.

They kept pulling each other closer, always closer, allowing the world to see their love, the world to see their beauty.

At that moment, he didn’t care about opinions, he didn’t care about doing the right thing. At that moment, Jaskier wanted to be selfish, he wanted to bask in the man behind him, he wanted to be loved. He wanted to love Geralt.

****

Jaskier turned away from the monitor, eyes closing. He could still feel the wind, could still feel the weight of Geralt against his back, “That was the last time Titanic ever saw daylight.”

“So, we’re up to the night of the sinking, six more hours to go,” Duny recounts, leaning back in his chair.

“Incredible,” Mousesack mutters, walking toward Jaskier, “Smith’s standing there, iceberg warning in hand, and he chooses to ignore it, ordering more speed.”

He and Duny go over his actions, scolding the captain, but Jaskier is turning over the clip in his hand, running a finger over the design. He was wearing this the day the ship sank.

The omega turns his head back to the screen, a small gasp leaving his lips as he sees the fireplace. Oh, how he wished he could go back, he wished he could warn them.

****

They entered the room in a fit of laughs, Jaskier stepping into the room gently pulling off his scarf, “It’s quite proper I assure you,” Jaskier shut the door behind him.

“Will this light do?”

Geralt simply nodded, humming as he took in his surroundings, serving the elegance of the objects around him.

Jaskier walked to the safe, turning the lock until it popped open with a click, “Em insists on dragging this dreadful thing everywhere.”

Nibley, he picked up the velvet box, “We shouldn’t be expecting him anytime soon, at least, not while the cigars and brandy hold out.”

Geralt hummed once more, head tilting in the direction of the necklace, “That’s nice,” he whistled, “Is that a sapphire?”

“No,” Jaskier corrected, “It’s a diamond, a very rare diamond.”

Heat rushing to his face he whispered into Geralt’s ear, “Geralt, I want you to draw me like one of your French omegas. Wearing this.”

With a nod, the alpha mumbled a small ‘ok’, gently handing Jaskier the necklace.

“Wearing only this.”

His scent spiked, growing more aroused and nervous, he glanced over at Jaskier, he gulped but nodded.

Retreating to his room, Jaskier began to strip, ridding himself of his clothing, wrapping himself in a thin robe. Stepping back into the bright light, he saw Geralt arranging the couch, sharpening his pencils. He smiled, coyly dragging the length of his robe across the room. He exposed his neck a little more, pheromones filling the room.

“The last thing I need,” he stated, staring at Geralt through his eyelashes, “Is another picture of me looking like a porcelain doll.” He stepped closer to the alpha, a smirk on his face, “And as a paying customer,” he tossed the dime in his hand to Geralt,” I expect to get what I want.”

Taking a few steps backward, he let the thin cloth fall from around his shoulders, sliding past down his hips until the fabric pooled at his feet. His hands twitched at his sides, fighting the blush that rose to his cheeks. On his chest, the diamond sat there heavily, almost cooling the incessant drum of his heartbeat.

Geralt did his best to avert his eyes, a soft hue of pink dusting the man’s cheeks, he gulped, stuttering over his words, “Fuck. Y-You can go there, “he pointed with a shaky finger, “On the bed- The couch! I mean, the couch.”

He lowered himself onto the plush couch, pressing himself gently against the pillows, fixing himself awkwardly, “Tell me when it looks right.”

The way you had it, Geralt commented, becoming for Jaskier to raise his arm a little higher, having his hands gently ghosting his cheek, “Put that other arm up, that hand right by your face,” he muttered, “Right...now, head down, eyes to me- keep them on me. Try to stay still.”

Jaskier simply smiled at the alpha, relishing in the attention.

With a cough, Geralt began, tracing his eyes down the omega’s figure. Somehow, his eyes remained kind, they remained loving, they never got hungry, they never made him feel uncomfortable.

The gentle glide of the charcoal pencil echoed in the silent room, the flicker of Geralt’s eyes from the sheet of paper to Jaskier made his scent grow fonder, kinder. He occasionally flipped his hair from his eyes, a deep furrow in his brow from concentration.

“So serious,” Jaskier teased, a smile quirking at his lips.

His heart continued to pound, eyes boring into Geralt, this alpha was so unlike any he’d ever met. This alpha was caring and kind, while sometimes a little rude and boorish, he was always respectful, never aggressive.

“You know,” he said, “You’ll have to take me along anytime you go out to sell your drawings, I’ll stand beside you and I’ll sing, I’ll draw in the crowd.”

He began to hum a tune, Geralt scoffing, “Toss a coin to your - hm, we need a name for you, a stage name...oh, I know - Witcher, oh valley of plenty, oh oh oh, toss a coin to your Witcher a friend of humanity…”

“Calling me a witch,” Geralt’s eyes shone with amusement, “Bard?”

A laugh rang out through the room, Jaskier’s chest heaving, he certainly was falling in love.

Jaskier watched in delight as the white-haired man’s gaze flickered lower, the faintest hint of a blush adorning his cheeks, another, barely audible, a grunt of, “Fuck,” slipping past his lips.

“I believe you were blushing, Mr. Big Artiste,” the brunette quipped, “I can’t imagine Monet blushing.”

Geralt simply hummed, providing Jaskier with a small, “He did landscapes. Relax your face, no laughing.”

Jaskier still smiled, leaving him with a quiet mutter of, “Not so fillingless now, am I?”

The alpha huffed out a laugh, but went quiet, that furrow returning. His gaze became more intense, but it still, never became hungry. Those golden eyes were seeing straight through him, unlocking every door the omega previously held shut, causing his heart to bloom open for the man. Geralt lit him aflame, and he never wanted to stop burning.

****

“My heart was pounding the whole time,” Jaskier recounts, a small smile on his lips, “It was the most erotic things of my life...up until then at least,” he chuckled.

The room looked to him drawn to his story.

“So, what happened next?” Mousesack questioned.

“You mean did we do it?” The older omega laughed, “Sorry to disappoint, but Geralt was very professional.”

****

Jaskier watched as Geralt signed his initials, scribbling in his loopy handwriting before blowing onto the paper. He admired it for a second before placing it into his folder. With a small hum, he handed the folder to Jaskier, “For you.”

The omega smiled, “Thank you,” he pressed a kiss to the alpha’s lips, pulling away to place the folder at his side. He pulled out another sheet of paper, writing out his final goodbye to his mother and Em, handing the velvet box for Geralt to take, “Will you put this away for me?”

‘Darling,’ he wrote, ‘Now, you can keep us both locked in your safe. -Julian.’

He smirked at the letter, placing it gently with the blue velvet box, shutting the safe and turning to Geralt, a smile on his face. A relieved sigh left his lips and we set off to his room, shutting the door behind him, shouting out to Geralt that he’d only be a moment.

He quickly slipped some clothes on, forgoing his waist trainer, and instead, putting on a simple button-up shirt and slacks. As he stepped out of the room, Geralt leaned against the door frame connecting the deck room to the sitting room, “It’s getting bloody cold out there.”

Jaskier began to question him, but a knock at the door interrupted them, Lovejoy.

“Mister Julian?”

Quickly, Jaskier grabbed the hand of the alpha, dragging him into his room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Geralt held the other door open, and they both walked out. Making their way into the hall, their pace was brisk, but steady.

However, when Lovejoy strode out of the room, Jaskier gripped onto Geralt’s hand, “Let’s Go!”

They raced down the hall, swerving to avoid others, narrowly making it to the elevator.

“Down!” Geralt commanded, shutting the doors behind him.

Lovejoy made it to the gates, banging on them as they ascended. With a smirk, Jaskier flipped him off, erupting into giggles coyly, waving him goodbye.

As the elevator dinged to a stop, they scurried out, laughing as they dodged the bodyguard. Running down an empty hallway, apologizing to those they ran into. They dissolved in a fit of giggles as they took a breath against a door, only to see Lovejoy peek through the small window.

“Fuck,” Geralt muttered, taking Jaskier’s hand in his own, tugging the omega away. They snuck into a room.

Cautiously checking behind, them before stepping inside. It was the cargo room. Mountains of boxes and luggage, cars, and imported items. They walked around, Geralt marveling at the cars.

The omega came to a stop, walking in front of a car, a car that belonged to Emhyr.

“Ahem,” Jaskier coughed, waiting expectantly before a car door.

With a smirk, Geralt helped him in, offering his hand politely, “Here you go, mister.”

“Why thank you.”

He climbed in the front, honking the horn once for good measure, “Where to, sir?”

With a small laugh, Jaskier pulled the window down, snaking his hands across Geralt’s chest, whispering, “To the stars.”

He dragged the alpha back, pulling him into the plush seats of the automobile, holding him close. They sat there for a while, arousal passing through them, “Are you nervous?” Geralt questioned, intertwining their fingers.

“No,” Jaskier answered, words sure and with vigor. Gently, he pressed his lips to Geralt’s fingertips, leaving small kisses in his wake.

Geralt stared at him, eyes wondering and kind, they were still not hungry, but definitely aroused.

“Touch me, Geralt,” Jaskier begged, guiding the hand of the alpha to his hips, reaching out to pull him closer.

A small smile graced Geralt’s face as he was pulled into a kiss, responding enthusiastically as Jaskier opened his mouth. The sudden space allowed the other male to lick into his mouth, exploring the warm cavern. Below him, Jaskier moaned out. His head spinning with the pheromones in the air, the thick scent of Jaskier filling his nose. He wanted more, he needed more.

He whined, high in his throat, “P-Please.”

A growl left the alpha’s throat, nosing at his collar, hand feverishly undoing the buttons that prevented him from reaching the sweet treasure of the omegan scent gland, gulping the smell greedily. His other hand gripped at Jaskier’s thin waist, fingers digging gently into his hips.

As much as he enjoyed the treatment, he began to grow impatient, tugging at Geralt’s clothing, “Off, Geralt, off.”

The whitehaired man simply chuckled at him, leaning up to ease his shirt off, once again meeting Jaskier halfway for a heated kiss. This kiss was with too much teeth, too much spit, but it set Jaskier ablaze. Toes curling, he threw his head back, moaning out.

Swallowing his moans, Geralt continued his assault of the omega, sucking bruises into the fair skin, pride swelling as they blossomed into a lovely shade of purple and red. He pressed the omega closer, groaning into his neck as he felt the sudden outpour of slick.

The alpha made quick work of his pants, raising Jaskier’s hips just enough to slide them off smoothly, breathing in deeply as he smelt the sweet aroma of the omega beneath him.

With a small whimper, Jaskier reached out, “Need you, need you, alpha.”

An animalistic sound left the normally well-composed man, thumbing at his own pants, quickly drawing himself out, stroking himself lightly with one hand.

Sneaking a quick peek, the brunette moaned, his alpha would fill him up so well, a perfect mate. He groaned out, back bowing off the seat as he felt a finger probe curiously at his entrance. The fingers were large, gently padding around his walls, collecting as much slick as he could.

The omega pawed at his mate’s chest lightly, “Now, alpha, now,’ he moaned brokenly. Pheromones swirling around the tight quarters, making it so very hard to think straight. He rocked his hips back, hoping to get some friction, but with a strong hand, Geralt stopped him.

“Patience,” he groaned out, “I’ll take care of you, I promise. Such a beautiful omega for me, my beautiful omega?”

Jaskier keened at the praise, a blush rising to his cheeks, “YES! Yours, only yours.”

Finally, Geralt aligned himself, slowly pushing in, watching the face of the omega below him, checking for any signs of discomfort.

The brunette arched off the seats, head falling back, neck bared, he screwed his eyes shut a broken moan leaving his lips, “Fuck! SO-So big...ngh!”

Geralt growled from above him, gripping his hips tightly, thrusting in and out, his mind was hazed at the tight heat around him, velvet walls sucking him back in, Jaskier’s moans causing his instincts to rear their head. They demanded him to mate the omega, to claim him right there, but he resisted, instead biting his shoulder, narrowly missing the gland.

His moans grew louder and Geralt increased his speed, eventually turning the omega, ass up face down, the perfect breeding position. He growled again, face pressing against the sweet gland on Jaskier’s neck, drinking in the scent.

Blindly, he reached up, clutching at Geralt’s neck, a thick coil began to build in his stomach, it made his toes curl and his eyes roll back, “FUCK! NGH! G-Geralt! ALPHA!”

The air around them grew thick, the windows fogging, their sounds reverberated back to them.

“My omega,” Geralt groaned, snapping his hips to meet Jaskier’s hips, sweat trickling down his back, “Mine.”

“Y-Yours! AHAH! Yours! F-Fuck, y-you fill me so well! S-SO big! S-So d-deep!”

His moans grew louder, nearly screaming as he reached his orgasm, slamming his hand onto the back window, clawing at it as the coil within his stomach came undone. He gripped around the alpha within him, nails scratching down his back, eyes rolling backward, toes curling,

“ALPHA!” He screamed, white spurts of cum shooting between them.

But Geralt didn’t falter, chasing his own release, snapping his hips faster, spurred on by the scream of his title, “Fuck, Jaskier.”

Below him, the brunette whimpered, body shaking as he struggled to come down from his high, reaching up to pull the alpha closer, “I want your knot, Alpha,” he whispered, “Please,” tears formed in his eyes, instincts taking over, “Please, I-I want you to fill me up!”

The alpha growled, “Yeah, you want me to fill you up, leave you round and leaking, full of my seed?”

To that, Jaskier keened, tightening around he alpha, moaning out as he felt the knot begin to swell, widening, stretching him further, “YES! GOD! YES! please! I want that so bad, I wanna carry your pups, Geralt, please! I’ll be so good, I’ll be so good for you!”

He growled once more burying himself inside the omega with one last shove, jaw clamping down on Jaskier’s shoulder, once again, narrowly missing the mating spot. He began to shake, emptying himself within the omega, giving his all to the omega, to his omega.

As he pulls away, body vibrating, they stare at each other, love passing through them. Gripping onto his shoulders, pressing a gentle kiss to Geralt’s lips, Jaskier remarks, “You’re trembling. “

With a smile the alpha just returns the kiss, lifting his hand to gently cradle the omega’s face, “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” His chest is heaving, heart thumping in his chest.

A calm scent washes over them, Jaskier staring fondly at the taller man before pulling him closer once more, letting the alpha rest his head on his chest.

They lay there, exchanging subtle jokes and cracking loving smiles, they bask in the afterglow, however, they know that they cannot stay long, Lovejoy will surely have managed to catch up to them.  
As they begin to get dressed Jaskier snatches away the alpha’s shirt, holding it away from him.

“Jaskier,” Geralt warns, a smirk playing on his lips as he reaches for the item.

“Nope, you’re not getting it back unless you take back that bit about my fillingless pie,” the brunette stated, a challenging look in his eye.

With a scoff, the white-haired man lunged for it, pushed away by Jaskier’s hand, “Jaskier.”

“Take it back and I’ll give you back your little shirt,” he muttered, a hand resting on Geralt’s chest.

“I take it back.”

“Say it!”

“You’re singing isn’t a fillingless pie, it’s actually quite beautiful. It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard,” He whispered, golden gaze staring deeply into the brightened seas of Jaskier’s.

The omega went silent, deep blushing rising to his cheeks, “Geralt…”

At his silence, he quickly snatched his shirt back, turning away from the smaller man, his own blush rising to his cheeks.

“Let’s go.”

****

They made their way above deck, hands intertwined, laughter spilling from their lips. As they threw open the door, greeted rudely by the cold air, Jaskier swung himself around turning to face Geralt.

The night breeze blew against him, the soft sway of the boat below him, and Geralt’s gaze on him. It set him ablaze, a new fire igniting deep within his soul, rising from the tips of his soul to the top of his heart. Trust and love and warmth surged between their connected palms.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said slowly, pulling his alpha closer, pressing their foreheads together, “When the ship docks, I’m getting off with you…”

“That’s crazy…”

Jaskier laughed, a hand coming up to gently cradle Geralt’s face, “I know...that’s why I trust it.”

His alpha smiled, eyes shining with warmth, with love, with care, and he connected their lips. Pressing forward until the omega met him halfway, always halfway. Their kiss wasn’t heated, and it wasn’t chaste. It was full of promise, of hidden secrets and desires, of future plans and dreams. It was them swearing their souls to one another, swearing off anyone else, swearing off the possibility of anyone else.

They were pulled apart by a loud sound above them, and some rushed screams followed.

“The hell?” Geralt wondered, looking up, neck craning to eye the men in the watchtower.

The ground beneath them shook, Jaskier wobbling a little, steadied only by the reassuring hand of Geralt. They turned to each other, confusion and worry etched on their face.

Suddenly, a large wall of ice came into view. Tall and looming, scraping over the side of the ship, a deafening screech was heard.

“Move back!” Geralt quickly pulled the omega out of the way, jumping backward as large chunks of ice fell onto the deck. A few men were knocked away, but quickly crawled to their feet.

“What is that?” Jaskier gasped, eyeing the cold mass, some frost dusting his slacks.

But the alpha was already racing to the railing, hands gripping at the wood as he leaned over, eyes widening in shock at what he saw.

The Titanic hit an iceberg.

Jaskier followed suit, leaning over to try and see the sides, “Well, I don’t see anything,” he muttered, “Do you think it could have damaged the ship?”

His alpha shrugged, a quizzical look on his face, “I don’t know, it was only a shudder. I think we’re ok.”

He turned his head again, craning his neck to spot any damage.

With nimble fingers, Jaskier quietly dropped a small cube of ice down his collar. Geralt shuddered away, grunting at the cold sensation before turning to his omega, “Oh, you’re going to get it,” he muttered.

He ducked down, quickly grabbing a strewn piece of ice, pressing it to Jaskier who wretched away, “Geralt! GERALT, NO!” He shrieked as the ice was placed down his shirt.

The couple dissolving into a fit of laughter, unable to believe the blatant stupidity of the other.

Quickly sighing at each other, they decided to make their way up, climbing the stairs leading to the first-class deck. As they inched closer to the entrance, the captain and some of his men rushed down.

Hushed whispers of the damage leaving their lips, Borch trailing worriedly behind them, “Have you seen the damage of the mail hold?”

The young sailor shook his head, “No, sir, it’s already underwater.”

Worry crawled up Jaskier’s throat, “This seems bad...we should go tell Em and mother.”

Beside him, Geralt hummed, “Lead the way.”

****

The pair approached the hallway, Lovejoy standing watch, a scowl on his face, “We’ve been looking for you.”

Jaskier ignored him, striding towards his room, hand slipped comfortably between Geralt’s.

With a deep breath, they entered the room, unsurprised to find the tension thick, angered scent high in the air.

His mother turned, drink in hand, her eyes shone with embarrassment and disappointment.

Closer to the door was Emhyr, a sneer was on his face, puffing out a ring of smoke. Lovejoy shut the door behind him as Jaskier began, “Something serious has happened-”

“Yes, it has,” Emhyr seethed, eyes cold and unforgiving, posture rigid, “Indeed. Two things dear to me have disappeared this evening,” he said, head craning to look at the Master of Arms, “And now that one has returned, I have an idea of where to find the other. Search him!”

The officers closed in, tugging Jaskier away gently, “Take your coat off, sir.”

A small growl rose in the alpha’s throat as the stripped him of his coat, hands flattening around his pants and suspenders, “Now what?”

Jaskier furrowed his brows, looking between the two alphas in confusion, “Em? What are you doing? We’re in the middle of an emergency, what’s going on?”

“Is this it?” From Geralt’s pocket, he lifted the necklace. ‘The Heart of the Ocean,’ gleamed in the light, diamond sparkling beautifully. But the sight of it only made Jaskier’s heart drop.

“That’s horeshit!” Geralt seethed, posture becoming defensive, “Don’t believe them, Jaskier! Don’t!”

The omega stared at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, “...He couldn’t have…”

“Of course, he could have,” Emhyr provided, “It’s easy enough for a professional.”

The officers snapped the cuffs on Geralt’s wrists, “Come on.”

“B-But I was with him the whole time this is absurd,” he exclaimed, a hand coming up to press against his stomach slightly.

“Maybe he did it while you were putting your clothes back on, dear,” Emhyr hissed into Jaskier’s ear, walking coolly behind him.

A growl left Geralt’s throat, “Real slick, Emhyr. They put it in my pocket, Jaskier-”

“Shut up!” Emhyr demanded, head snapping towards the white-haired man.

“It isn’t even your pocket, is it, son?” Lovejoy commented, lifting the coat to the light, revealing a neatly scrawled name, embroidered into the wool, “Property of: A.L Rayson.”

A small gasp left Jaskier’s lips, eyeing the man before him suspiciously. He did this? Geralt? The sweet, gentle, sometimes rude alpha? The alpha who always looked at him with affection, with respect and never hunger? The alpha who’d taken his first-?

They bickered back and forth on the jacket, the Master of Arms commenting that it was reported missing today.

“I was going to return it, Jaskier, I was going to return it,” Geralt pleaded, trying to catch the omegas gaze.

But Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to look the alpha in the eye, eyes drifting everywhere else in the room, suddenly finding the paint on the glass vase interesting.

The alpha closed the distance between them, “You know I didn’t do this, Jaskier, you know it,” he whispered, “Don’t believe them, you can’t believe them, Jaskier-”

The officers began to drag him away, hauling him out the door and into the hall. All the while the alpha struggled, pulling against the men, “You know I didn’t do this! Jaskier, please! You know this is horeshit! You know me!”

The omega was pulled away by his mother, her hands gently circling around his shoulders. She murmured something to him, but he didn’t hear. His ears were filled with static, solid white noise filled his hearing. His lips trembled, all signs pointing to the obvious, and yet, something within him refused to let him believe it.

But that didn’t stop his heart from shattering, or his eyes from welling with tears. He felt so empty, lost, incomplete.

Eventually, the room emptied out, leaving only Emhyr and Jaskier. The brunette staring brokenly into the wall, eyes hazed and unfocused. This made no sense, why would he do it? Why would the man he’d given his all to betray him like this? It didn’t sit right with him, none of this situation sits right with him.

Emhyr stood in the doorway, arm raised and palm leaning on the frame, he turned his head. Anger and disgust filled the room, his too strong scent made Jaskier gag. The alpha stalked towards him, eyes scrutinizing and repulsed.

With a sigh, Jaskier met his gaze, eyes tired. However, the raven stood there, unmoving. He opened his mouth to speak before quickly snapping it shut, seemingly deciding on something else. With cold eyes, he raised his hand, striking Jaskier across the face with it.

The force caused Jaskier’s neck to snap in the opposite direction, cheek burning at the contact, a small whimper leaving his mouth.

“Oh, it is a little slut, isn’t it?” The alpha seethed, “You look at me when I’m talking to you!” He growled, hands pulling the omega straight, nails biting into his skin as he seized his shoulders.

Jaskier looked up, eyes wide with fear, trembling under the alpha’s hold. A knock pulled Emhyr’s gaze from him, “Mr. Emries?”

“Not now, we are busy!” He shouted, grip tightening.

But the butler still walked in, calm and unwavering, “Sir, I’ve been told to ask you to please put on your life belts and come up to the boats-”

“I said,” He hollered before catching himself, turning to the man, “Not now…”

The alpha released Jaskier from his grip, leaving him huffing for air. Eyes unfocused, heart pounding in his chest, he fell backward onto the couch for support.

“I’m sorry to inconvenience you, Mr. Emries, but it’s captain’s orders,” The man walked into another room, voice trailing behind him, “Now please, dress warmly, it’s quite cold out. Now, may I suggest topcoats and hats for tonight.”

Emhyr scoffed, turning away from the omega with a scowl on his face, “This is ridiculous.”

Jaskier raised a hand to his cheek, fingers gently prodding at the irritated skin, his breathing was still rushed, but his heart managed to stop beating so fast.

“Not to worry, sir,” the butler reassured, eyeing the brunette kindly, “I’m sure it’s just a precaution.”

Jaskier could care less. His eyes drifted away from the man, body growing numb. God, he wishes the world would just swallow him whole.

****

The dining room was lively, people chattering around, anxious and bored. Classical music played dully in the background, staff rushing around, confused and distressed looks on their faces.

“Goddamn English, doing everything by the book,” Emhyr complained, annoyance in his tone as he dodged another passenger.

“There is no need for language, Mr. Emreis,” his mother chided, slipping her gloves on. The older omega turned to the two maids that lingered behind her, “Go turn the heaters on in our rooms, I’d like a cup of tea when I return.”

The women bowed respectfully, scurrying off to do as she said.

Jaskier stood around, waiting quietly, but anxiety soon began to fill him. Roaring within him as he saw a distressed-looking Borch.

The man walked up the stairs, head scanning everything around him. With a gentle hand, Jaskier stopped him, “Mr. Borch?”

The alpha turned, brown eyes drowning in worry and uncertainty.

“Is saw the iceberg and I see it in your eyes,” the omega whispered, fingers gripping onto the alphas coat, “Please tell me the truth.”

Looking around, the older man dragged Jaskier to the side of the stairs, his voice was low and emotion-filled, “The ship will sink,” he admitted.

Jaskier’s face morphed into confusion, “You’re certain?”

“Yes,” he breathed, scent becoming anxious, worried, “In an hour or so all of this will be at the bottom of the Atlantic.”

The omega’s eyes grew wide, a hand coming slowly to cup at his mouth.

“Please,” the man begged, “tell only who you must. I don’t want to be responsible for a panic. And get to a boat, quickly. Don’t wait,” he pressured, “You...remember what I told you about the boats?”

Of course, he did. The information engrained into his mind, he’d been going over the numbers since their conversation, “Yes...I understand.”

The alpha nodded his head before walking away, slightly swaying as he left.

Shock ran through his system. The ship was going to sink, people were going to die. He froze, Geralt might die. The thought caused him great pain, heart aching.

This ship, the ‘Unsinkable Ship’ known as the Titanic was going to sink and it was going to go straight to the bottom to of the ocean, he looked around him. People were making small talk around him, gulping down brandy and laughing, smoking cigars and speaking of their plans. These people didn’t even realize what was going on. These people didn’t even know that in two hours, half of them would be at the bottom of the Atlantic with this ship.

****

The loud pop of the flare going off rang through the air, lights dazzling against the stark night sky. People erupted into concerned murmurs, just now seeming to connect two and two together.

He stood there, mind racing with worry as they declared, “ONLY OMEGAS AND PUPS! MOTHERS AND CHILDREN!”

For once in his life it seemed that his gender would come in hand, it would be his saving grace. But he didn’t want to be saved if it meant the people around him would die, if it meant his alpha would die.

The sailors directed people onto the boats, helping trembling omegas sit comfortably on the seats.

“Any room for a gentleman, gentleman?” Emhyr tried.

The man answered, but Jaskier was focused on the couple before him. A sobbing omegan woman clinging to her husband, kissing him goodbye.

“Will the lifeboats be seated according to class?” His mother questioned, a chuckle rising to her lips and she turned to her son and Em.

“I certainly hope they’re not too crowded,” She joked, an arrogant air surrounding her.

Disgust filled Jaskier, hundreds of people were going to die tonight and that was her concern? She was so blindly consumed by the privilege that came with their name that she didn’t even consider those below deck. The children below deck.

“Oh, mother,” Jaskier sneered, “Shut up!” He pulled his mother, anger filling his being, “Don’t you understand? The water is freezing and there aren’t enough boats, not enough by half,” he stared into her eyes, “Half of the people on this ship are going to die!”

His mother looked away, gasping at her son’s outburst.

“Not the better half,” Emhyr remarked, a smirk pulling the corner of his mouth up.

The brunette glared up at him, eyes narrowing challengingly. He listened half mindedly as his mother was ushered into the boat, Triss doing her best to calm her down.

“You know it’s a pity I didn’t keep those drawings, it will be worth a lot more by morning,” he hissed.

“You unimaginable bastard,” Jaskier breathed, nose scrunching in disgust.

“Come, Julian, darling,” Triss called, her voice kind, “There’s plenty of room for you.”

But he made no move to get on the boat, backing away slightly.

“Come on Julian, you’re next, darling,” Triss offered her hand, curls bouncing around her head.

“Come into the boat, Julian,” His mother commanded, stretching a handout.

He began to back away further, retreating into the crowd, still facing his mother.

“Julian, get into the boat,” she hissed, eyebrows furrowing.

He breathed out heavily, moving away from them, “Goodbye, mother,” he stated, turning sharply on his heel, marching into the crowd.

“Julian!” His mother called.

Emhyr stopped after him, harshly grabbing his elbow, spinning him around, “Where are you going?”

“What? To him?” He exclaimed, hand tightening, “To be a whore to a gutter rat?”

“I’d rather be his whore than your mate,” Jaskier spat, face contorting in disgust.

As he turned to leave, Emhyr pulled him back, “NO! I said NO!”

Jaskier thrashed in his hold, pushing himself away, kicking out his feet. An idea came to his head, hocked back spit, letting it gather in his throat before launching at Emhyr. As soon as the alpha’s grip loosened, he was off, drowning out the cries and pleas of his mother.

“JULIAN! PLEASE STOP! COME BACK AND GET IN THE BOAT!”

He would do no such thing, not while his alpha was still aboard somewhere.

****

He raced down, searching around him frantically, “Mr. Borch?!”

Frustration filled him when the halls came up empty, but that wouldn’t stop him.

“Mr. Borch?”

As he turned into another corridor, he spotted the man, “Mr. Borch? Thank god!” Jaskier ran to the alpha, “Where would the Master of Arms take someone under arrest?”

The older man’s face morphed into confusion, “What are you-? You have to get to a boat right away,” he urged, guiding the omega out the hallway.

Jaskier planted his feet, “NO! I’m doing this with or without you, sir! It’ll just take longer.”

Shaking his head, the man relented, briskly guiding the omega down the hall, “Take the elevator to the very bottom,” he instructed, “Go to the left, down the crimson passage, then go right, and left again at the stairs, you’ll come to a long corridor.”

Jaskier whispered the information under his breath, nodding along as the man talked, “Thank you,” he breathed, taking off towards the elevators.

He pushed people out of the way, chest heaving as he ran, “Excuse me- thank you!”

He rushed to the elevators, stopped by the operator holding an arm over the door, “I’m sorry, sir, but the lifts are closed.”

Jaskier glared at him, a small omegan growl rising in his throat, he grabbed the man by the lapels, “I’m through being polite, goddammit!” He thrust him against a wall, “Now take me down!” He demanded.

With a meek nod of his head, the man flipped the lever, causing the car to descend.

His heart thumped in his chest, muttering a small, “I’m coming, Geralt.”

As they went lower, water rushed into the elevator.

“I’m going back up!” The man screamed, reaching for the lever.

“No!” He shouted, throwing the man back. He pried the doors open, shivering at the cold water. It surrounded him as he stepped out, coming up to his knees.

“Come back!” The man yelled, “I’m going back up! I’m going back up!” The elevator rose to the top, leaving Jaskier in the cold hallway.

Jaskier watched as the elevator rose, as his chance of returning to the top, his chance at safety, rose.

He didn’t want to leave this ship without Geralt, he wasn’t going to leave this shop without Geralt.

The water pushed him back, steadily rising to his hips. With a few grunts, he pushed floating furniture out of his way, wading through the water doing his best to remember the directions given to him by Borch.

He came to the stairs, “Geralt!” He yelled. Pulling himself further down the hallway. Around him, lights began to flicker, a dim shadow casting on the narrow hallway.

“GERALT!”

As he continued to walk, the water subsided, now pooling at his ankles, “GERALT!”

“JASKIER!” A voice called; a sharp metal clang followed suit.

The omega spun, walking towards his alphas voice, relief filling his being. He was ok, his mate was ok.

“GERALT?!” He shouted, opening doors as he went, a small grunt rising to his throat when he found them empty.

“JASKIER! I’M IN HERE!”

The very sound of his voice filled the brunette with such comfort it almost felt unrealistic. Following the sound of his voice, Jaskier threw open a door and gasped when he saw Geralt chained to a pipe. His clothing looked disheveled, and a dark bruise seemed to be forming on the alphas strong jaw.

“Geralt! Oh, Geralt, I’m so sorry!” He heaved, wadding threw the water, throwing his arms around the alpha’s neck, pulling him into a kiss.

“That bastard put it in my pocket,” he explained, golden eyes wide and pleading.

“I know! I know!” The omega exclaimed, pulling his mate close, head falling to his scent gland.

Geralt pulled away, hands rattling around the pole he was chained to, “Look, Jaskier, you’re going to have to find a key. Check that cabinet there!”

The brunette raced towards the wooden cabinet, a sigh left his lips, it was full of keys. They all hung on racks with small, neatly written labels beneath them.

He threw the doors open, quickly scanning the labels, turning to Geralt with a distressed look when he couldn’t find a key.

“It’s ok,” Geralt soothed, “Check over there, at the desk.”

He trudged his way to the desk, immediately pulling out a draw, holding it to his hip as he rummaged inside.

“Jaskier,” Geralt called, “How did you find out I didn’t do it?”

The omega froze at the question, a wave of emotion passing over him, “I didn’t, I just realized that I already knew.” He smiled at his mate.

“Well, keep looking,” Geralt chided, a smile pulling at his lips, body draining of tension despite their situation.

He threw the drawer down, a frustrated groan leaving his lips, “There’s no key!”

Geralt called out for him, soothing pheromones filling the room, “You’re going to have to go get help, but Jaskier...it’ll be alright.”

He waded towards the white-haired man, “I’ll be right back,” he promised, pressing a kiss to his lips.

Jaskier hated the thought of leaving him there, but it was this or nothing. As he entered the narrow hallway he called out for help, voice reverberating back to him. Anxiety filled his core, flooding through him, why was no one here?

“Hello?” He called, quickly bounding up the stairs.

Frustrated tears burned his eyes, there was nobody, absolutely nobody. He raced through the halls, breathing ragged, “Hello?! Is anybody down here? Please? I need help!”

Suddenly, he spotted a man, “Oh! Thank god,” he gasped, “There’s a man down there, he needs our help-”

Bu the man ran through him, pushing Jaskier aside, shaking his head muttering “Niet!”

Jaskier pulled at the man’s coat, begging him to listen, “Please! Please!”

The man was gone, running up the stairs, away from the water, not even sparing Jaskier a second glance.

Dread filled the omega, “Hello!?” He called out.

The lights around him dimmed entirely, fading to black. Panicked breaths rose in his throat, fear gripping him, a loud croak of the ship arose around him. Tears filled his eyes as he struggled to steady himself. He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t save his alpha, this was hopeless.

He wanted to curl up and cry, let the cold Atlantic waters sweep him away.

Another man rounded the corner, lifejackets stacked in his arm. “Ah! Sir, you shouldn’t be down here,’ he grabbed Jaskier’s arm, pulling him towards the staircase.

“Please! I need your help,” Jaskier begged, trying to point in the opposite direction, “There is a man down here! He’s trapped-”

The man paid him no mind, simply tugging him along, “Yes, yes. Don’t worry, no need to panic-”

“No,” the omega pleaded, “I’m not panicking-! PLEASE!” He tried to tug himself free, “You’re going the wrong way!” He cried.

“Let go of me!” H shouted, “LISTEN!”

The man turned, another bullshit excuse on his tongue, “Sir-”

But Jaskier was having none of it, reeling his fist back and punching the man in the face. This sent him stumbling backward, crashing into the wall.

Jaskier looked to his fist then the man, surprised at his action.

“To hell with you then!” The man muttered, holding his bloodied nose as he scurried off.

This left Jaskier alone, with no help, with no plan.

He leaned against a wall, eyes slipping shut, a frustrated groan slipping past his lips. Bringing his hands to his face, his fingers pressed against his eyes angrily, roughly wiping away tears.

When he reopened his eyes, he spotted something, eyes widening.

He lunged forward, hands struggling with the fire hose, taking the heavy metal nozzle in his hand and smashing against the glass case which housed an ax. He stepped away from the broken glass and reached for the ax, pulling it closer to his body and racing downstairs.

The brunette came to a stop, pausing at the sudden rise of water, it would be up to his neck. Quickly shedding his coat, he wadded in, grabbing a hold of the pipes above him. Using them as a railing almost, shimming his way to the room, arms straining as he continued.

He entered the room with a call of Geralt’s name, “Will this work?” He questioned, flashing the tool in his hand.

“I guess we’ll find out,” Geralt said, a slight tremor in his voice.

He spread his wrists apart on the pips, exposing the thin chain that hung between them, “Come on!”

As Jaskier lifted it Geralt stopped, him, “Wait! Take a few practice swings first!”

Jaskier nodded, finding it better to practice rather than cut his mate’s hand off. He turned to the large wood cabinet. As he lifted the ax once again, he struck it down, creating a large gaping hole.

“Good! Try to hit the same mark again, Jaskier, you can do it! I know you can.”

With a deep breath, Jaskier struck again. Only this time, it landed about 5 inches away from his first swing.

“Fuck,” Geralt muttered, slight panic filling the air, but he quickly drew back, “You can do it! Just go hard and fast- open your hands a bit more- that’s good.”

The omega lifted the ax, hands trembling slightly, fear filling his senses.

“I trust you, Jaskier,” the alpha whispered.

Screwing his eyes shut, he brought the ax down, a small shriek falling from his lips.

The large clang and Geralt’s cheer are what snapped his eyes open. He did it, he really did it. Geralt jumped down, hands coming up to frame the sides of his omegas face, “You did it, Jaskier, you did it.”

They smiled at each other; subtle pride flooding threw the brunette.

“Come on, we’ve got to go!” Jaskier pressured, gripping Geralt’s hand and tugging him along.

****

Geralt ran at it again, shoulder colliding with the locked door.

“Geralt, be careful!”

With one final shout and another shove, the door flew open, bits of broken wood flying anywhere. They collapsed threw, ignoring the shout from a crew member.

Jaskier quickly took hold of his alphas hand, both men striding down the hallway, trying to make sense of where they were.

“You’ll have to pay for that you know!” the crew member shouted, trailing closely behind them, “That’s White Starline Property-!”

Geralt turned back to the man, a growl raising in his throat, “Shut the fuck up!”

Jaskier’s eyes widened, running a soothing hand over Geralt’s arm. They made their way through the mass of people, pulling on locked doors. They came across a sealed entrance, a man scurrying away from it, “Sir, could you open this up?!” Geralt called.

But the man ran, leaving them to fend for themselves.

Jaskier stood behind him a hand resting in the gate when suddenly he was enveloped in a warm blanket, a young girl, maybe about his age smiled at him, “Cover yourself up, Love, it’s quite cold.”

“Thank you,” he breathed, arms circling around himself. Perched on her hip was a small boy, he buried himself in her chest, small fist clutching at her jacket.

“Geralt, is that you?” A voice questioned, it was a boy, he stood beside the girl, arms filled with two other children.

His alpha turned, eyes quickly fixating on the two before them, “Armani! Romani! You’re all ok.”

“Thankfully,” the boy muttered, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small flask, “Here.”

Jaskier took it, taking a grateful swig of it. The alcohol burned as it went down, but it provided a small amount of relief.

“Cheers,” Geralt grunted, taking his own swig of it.

They continued to move, the small family following close behind. They made their way up the stairs, Jaskier offering to carry one of the children. The child was small, probably an alpha, he couldn’t have been any older than 6. Piercing forest green eyes peered up at Jaskier quizzically, small hand clutched to his chest. The omega in him preened, instincts lighting up joyously.

The throng of people grew bigger, loud shouts and screams coming from the entrance at the top of the stairs.

“Yennefer!” Geralt called, spotting the small violet-eyed woman from earlier.

She turned to him, anger flowing off her, “It’s hopeless that way! They aren’t letting anyone through!”

Geralt grunted, “Whatever it is we do, we have to do it fast.”

“We can’t go that way,” the boy provided, “There’s nothing there.”

“Then, we go the other way!” the girl said, clutching at the child.

“Alright, come on!” Geralt ordered, pulling Jaskier behind him. They raced down a corridor, the child bumping slightly against his chest.

He smiled down at the young boy, doing his best to comfort him.

As they rushed down the crowded hallways, politely shoving bystanders out of the way, Geralt came to a sudden stop.

“Geralt, come on!” Yennefer shouted.

But Geralt was unwavering, “Let’s go this way.”

Everyone followed, they ended up at a staircase.

People crowded around it, outranged and frustrated.

Shoving their way through, Geralt and Yennefer reached the gate, “Open the gate,” Geralt demanded. A deep edge tinting his voice.

“Open the gate right now!” Yennefer snarled, pointing a warning finger to the man.

“Go down the main stairwell,” he droned, a smug look on his face.

The girl bound up to the gate, “Please, unlock the gate, we have children. Please,” she begged.

But the man didn’t move, “Go down the main stairwell.”

“You son of a bitch!” Jaskier cried, shoving the gate.

Geralt pulled Jaskier away, eyes quizzically searching the small hallway, finding a wooden bench.

“Yennefer, Armani, help me,” the three alphas began to pull at the bench, shoving it until it splintered away from the floor.

The girl, who Jaskier assumed was Romani, shielding the children from the flying pieces of wood.

The three lifted it, aiming at the gates.

“Move aside! Move aside!” Jaskier directed, kindly pushing people away, clearing a clear space for the alphas to ram the damn gate down.

“1...2...3!” They chanted, crashing the gate down. The man on the other side ran, fear spilling from his scent.

As they burst through the gate, the group raced forward, climbing over the misshapen metal and the splintered bench.

They were closer, closer to being safe, closer to being off the Titanic.

****

As they emerged on deck the cold night air hit Jaskier’s face. Unforgiving Atlantic air sending goosebumps down his body, he clutched the child closer.

Around them was utter chaos, screams and cries were coming from everywhere, the boat already slightly tipped on one side.

“The boats are gone!” Jaskier exclaimed, eyes scanning the edge of the boat, worry filling his being.

A man passed them; it was the Colonel.

“Colonel,” Jaskier cried, for once it seemed that all those years of enduring mindless d=chatter from this man would come in handy, “Are there any boats on that side?”

“No, Julian, but there are boats down there,” he pointed, “Come on, I’ll lead you.”

But the group was already off, boudin towards the front of the ship, pushing past people, keeping the children close.

Through all the chaos, through all the utter madness, Geralt never let go of Jaskier’s hand. A firm warm grip, always. Even now, as it seemed that the world was falling apart, the alpha never faltered, he never wavered.

“Music to drown to,” Yennefer muttered, running past the quartet, “Now I know I’m in first class.

****

“Give me the child,” an officer ordered, pulling the boy from Jaskier’s chest. It made his inner omega scream, the pup was being ripped away from him, but he’d be given a chance to survive.

The man also took the two other boys, leaving Romani a shaking mess. Jaskier clutched her hand holding her steady

The other omega turned to him a sad smile on her face, “This boat is full!” The officer shouted, signaling for the man to begin lowering it.

“Wait!” Geralt demanded, “There isn’t room for her?”

The officer shook his head, readying the men.

“Mani,” one of the children cried, “Get in the boat!”

The raven quickly calmed them, “You’ll all be fine, darlings, don’t you worry. It’s goodbye for a little while,” she said, voice cracking, “Only a little while, there will be another boat for big sister and brother, it’s going to be ok.”

A man from the boat turned to her, eyes kind and sad, “I’ll take care of them, I swear to you.”

Romani collapsed in her brother’s arms, shaking with sobs, “Thank you.”

Jaskier watched in horror as they were lowed, reaching out and screaming for their older siblings. He turned to the other omega, giving her a hug before Geralt was pulling him away, “Come on, Jaskier,” they shuffled through a crowd of people.

Another boat was being filled, “I’m not going without you, Geralt,” Jaskier breathed, eyes watering.

“Yes, you are,” the alpha pressed, eyebrows furrowing, “Get in the boat, Jaskier.”

“Yes,” a voice interjected, “Get in the boat, Julian.”

Emhyr appeared, a small sneer on his face, “My God, you look a fright,” he quickly stripped himself of his topcoat, shoving the blanket into Geralt’s chest, and draping the coat on the omega. The alpha began to pet his hair, soothing it down, but Jaskier shirked away.

“I’m not going without you,” he hissed, voice low.

“Yes, you are,” the alpha began to push him towards the edge, “Go, Jaskier!”

“I have an arrangement, for both Mr. Rivia and I,” Emhyr countered, “We both have a boat on the other side, we’ll both leave the ship safely.”

Jaskier froze, his alpha would be safe?

“Come along, sir,” an officer tugged him into a boat, guiding him in.

He reached out, fingers stretching for Geralt, and for a split second they intertwined their fingers, but Geralt was sharply pulled away by an officer.

The boat began to lower, a surprised murmur spreading though out the riders. As it went down, Jaskier stared at Geralt, heart wrenching at their distance.

His head filled with static, the world around him becoming blurry. The roots of his soul were itching, burning for the alpha, burning for his alpha. The alpha that held him through everything. The alpha that saw him as an equal, not an object, a mate, not a pet, the alpha that saw him.

The alpha that saved him that night, pulling him back from the ledge, yanking him away from the cold waters. The alpha that hated talking when unnecessary, the alpha that always seemed nervous but hid it with sharp quips of his tongue.

Tears filled his eyes; how could he do this? How could he save himself? Why would he save himself if it meant Geralt wouldn’t make it? He was no idiot, he knew there was no deal, he knew Emhyr was going to leave Geralt on the ship.

That’s why leaving felt so painful. Blood rushed to his ears, his body filling with sudden adrenalin. He stared at the man above, strong and kind, rude and respectful, Geralt Rivia was so many things, but replaceable was not one of them.

He’d never find those honey pool eyes again, those eyes that always look at him with love, with curiosity, never hunger. Those hands that drew people as he saw them, that made no effort to cover up human flaw. That soul, kind and beautiful, his soul that was made of sunlight and fire, his soul that was made of spit shine and grunts.

He’d never see Geralt again if he did this, and that fate is worse than death.

Jaskier surged forward, stepping over the wooden seats of the boat and leaped, he leaped for the edge of the boat and prayed he’d make it.

His body collided with the steel painfully, arms scrambling to find purchase. Fear surged through him, and hands reached out for him, yanking him onboard.

He would stay and thank those that just saved his life, but right now, he needs to go find the person that gave him life.

****

The omega ran through the throngs of people, shoving bystanders out of the way, elbowing his way between crowds.

His heart thundered in his chest, mind racing, muscles burning. Tears were falling down his face freely, neck craning as he tried to spot his mate, rushing into the crowded dining hall.

And of course, Geralt met him halfway, he always met him halfway.

Jaskier cried out, leaping into Geralt’s arms, pressing his face greedily into the crook of his neck. He raggedly sucked in a breath, allowing the deep scent of Geralt to settle in his lungs.

“Jaskier!” Geralt shouted, pulling him close, wrapping his arms around him securely, lifting him off his feet. The alpha pressed kisses into his hair, trembling.

“You’re so stupid!” He cried, eyes welling with tears, “Why would you do that?!”

Jaskier gave him no response, choosing to clutch at his shirt, hands reaching out wildly to touch his alpha, his mate. Cries left his lips, small sobs followed by tears.

“You’re so stupid, Jaskier,” He pressed a harsh kiss to the omega’s mouth, “Why?” He demanded, golden eyes widening, looking enraged while also tinted with a small flash of relief.

“You jump I jump, right?” Jaskier sobbed, hands smoothing the hair from Geralt’s face, searching his face, trying to tell Geralt everything he was feeling.

“Right,” Geralt answered, a smile quirking at his lips.

The mates pulled each other close, always closer, meeting each other halfway for a kiss.

“I couldn’t go,” The brunette sobbed, “I couldn’t leave you, Geralt.”

“It’s alright,” the alpha soothed, hands gently stroking his face, “We’ll figure something out.”

“At least I’m with you,” He chucked, hearts still hammering in his throat.

He was probably doomed, he’d die here of the RMS Titanic, at 17 years old. But he’d die with the one person he loved the most, he’d die having experienced love, friendship, having experienced life. The dangers of their situation were drowned out, replaced by the warmth and security he got by just knowing his mate would be with him.

Suddenly, Geralt went rigid, urgently tugging Jaskier along, “Come on! Move, Jaskier!”

A loud gunshot was heard, it rang throughout the already chaotic deck. The shot sent passengers scurrying away, it blasted through the wood of the staircase, splintering it.

They ran, feet thudding on the carpet of the stairs as they sprinted down, narrowly dodging the bullets aimed at them. Jaskier turned his gaze upward, face going white at the shooter, it was Emhyr. The raven man’s eyes were wide, nostrils flared, his clothing was disheveled, and the pistol he held in his hand shook around wildly.

The omega shouted as he fired another shot, this one landing right by his foot, Geralt never let go of his hand, warm presence securely wrapped around the smaller male.

As they reached the bottom of the staircase, the once pristine room was now filled with water. Cold and unforgiving, it reached his hips, causing him to shiver as they jumped in, another shot going off behind him.

They waded through the water, Geralt shouting at Jaskier to hurry, the omega following closely behind him. Frustrated shouts and growls were heard from behind them, Emhyr emptying his barrel, his last shot firing into the glass entrance of the morning hall.

They raced into the empty room, glad to find it mostly dry, the pair shuddering at the loud warming creak of the ship.

Running to the other side of the room towards the entrance, Jaskier pulled on it. He let out a small whine in frustration, it was locked. With a small pull of his hand, Geralt led the omega back, ramming his shoulder into the door, frustrated to find it still locked.

“Geralt,” Jaskier warned, worried about either Emhyr or Lovejoy following.

“They won’t open anytime soon, we have to hide,” Jaskier whispered lowly, eyes pleading up at the alpha.

Geralt related, following Jaskier’s lead as they ducked behind the tables. The mates pressed their bodies to the floor, hands ghosting against the tile, both men stiffened when Lovejoy stalked into the room, gleaming pistol in hand.

The alpha moved away from Jaskier, pressing a finger to his lips, and silently moving around the room, leaving the omega alone.

The lights above them sputtered, shooting out small spurts of electricity that crackled in the reflection of the water. Tables around them swayed, the distant rolling of a cart filled with plates passed them.

“I know you’re here,” he shouted, still walking slowly between tables, “No use in prolonging this, it’s only a matter of time,” water sloshed around as he moved.

The man went quiet, movements stilled as he looked at the water. It suddenly began to rise, slipping well past Jaskier’s chest. The omega clamped his mouth shut, cutting off any sounds. The water was quite cold, and it did cause him to shake, but he wouldn’t make a sound, he refused to.

A shot of fear ran through him at the cold barrel pressed against his temple, “I’ve been looking for you, sir,” Lovejoy sneered, finger cocking the gun back.

As he steadied the pistol Geralt ran out, charging at the man, grunting as their bodies collided. The alpha knocked the older man to the ground, wrestling for the gun. Geralt easily overpowered him, pushing the beta against the wooden pillars of the room, a pained grunt spilling from him.

“You little shit,” Lovejoy hissed, teen clenched in anger and pain, blood spilling from a wound on his head.

A snort of laughter left Geralt’s lips, “I’m still standing,” he retorted, landing a clean punch to the others gut, causing him to double over.

Jaskier took the opening, quickly reaching for Geralt’s hand, pulling it close to his body as they dashed from the room, leaving a beaten Lovejoy behind.

The two surged forwards, stepping into a narrow staircase, pressing themselves against the wall to catch their breath. Jaskier let Geralt lean against him, the larger mans thundering heart felt through his water-soaked shirt.

As they stood there, pants filling the air, they heard a small cry. Rushing to see what it is, they spotted a young boy at the end of a hall. The boy stood there, distressed scent wafting off of him, crying into the air. He was drowned in a large coat, drenched to the bone.

“We can’t leave him here,” Jaskier breathed, omegan instincts gearing inside him. They called out for him to protect the child, the way they had earlier.

Geralt bit at his lip, eyeing the gushing flow of water behind them, “Ok…come on!”

They raced towards the boy, water splashing around them as they did. The young child’s cries worsened, growing more agitated the longer he was left alone.

They reached him, Geralt wordlessly scooping him up, pressing him close to his chest. The mates paused, fear filling the both of them as they saw the ever-increasing water pressure build behind two double doors. The doors began to crack, water gushing from the hinges.

Jaskier charged forward, pulling Geralt behind him, instincts now demanding he protect both the child and his mate. But the brunette stopped dead in his tracks, water was roaring form the staircase they had just been, a loud thrum of water filling the narrow hallway.

“Go back,” Geralt suggested, stepping through the water cautiously, holding the young boy close to his chest. As they approached the other end, a man stepped out, shouting at the two. He wretched the boy form Geralt, pushing him away and walking towards the door.

“NO! NOT THAT WAY!” They shouted, hands extending out for the two. But they were too late, the door bursting open. Water pouring in and engulfing the father and son, much to Jaskier’s dismay.

“JAKSIER!” Geralt cried, shoving them into a hallway, “RUN!”

The water stormed behind them, they continued to run. But eventually, their feet were swept from under them. As the two tumbled into the water, the strong current pulled them along, Jaskier shouting out for Geralt as water surrounded him.

The omega crashed into a gate, hands gripping on to it as he choked for air, “GERALT!”

His alpha tugged on his coat, “This way!”

The two struggled against the strong poll of the waters, Jaskier pulling himself using the small indents of the wall and the pipes that surround him.

Tugging himself to the stairwell, dread pools deep within him, another gate. It’s also locked, the deadbolt almost teasing in the faint glare of the light.

“Oh, for fucks sake!” He cried, tugging on the gates, it rattles at the movement, but the sound is drowned out by the rushing waters below them. The water rises steadily, pooling around their ankles as they grip onto the gate, yelling out for help.

A man dressed in a white vest scrambles towards them, a frightened look on his face. He automatically goes for the stairs, but they call out to him.

“Please! PLEASE! HELP US!”

He looks back at them, an apologetic look in his eye. The man glances at the stairs them back at them, and with a small whine he fumbles his way to the gate, “Bloody Hell.”

Hands shaking, he reaches for his keys, placing each on into the lock before pulling it back out, he can’t find the right one.

With the water rising around them they beg him, “Hurry, please!”

A pop of electricity causes him to jump, the keys falling to the water below.

“I-I dropped the keys,” he stuttered, mortified, “I’m sorry.”

The man takes off, dashing for the stairs once more. The mate’s cries fall on deaf ears, as the man bound up the stairs, pulling their chance at freedom along with him.

Jaskier heard a large intake of breath beside him, and a splash of water as Geralt ducked to reach for the keys. The alpha searched blindly; hand extended to feel across the tile.

After a while the resurfaced, face went and dripping with water, “Which on is it?”

“Try the sharp one!” He guessed, hands trembling as they gripped the gate. Water rushed higher behind them, slipping past their shoulders.

Geralt grunted out, searching blindly for the keyhole. He twisted his wrist, shirt catching on a snag in the gate, “Fuck.”

“Hurry, Geralt!” Jaskier screamed, head craning to stay above water. He clutched the iron gate, arms straining as he lifted himself higher, head bounding against the roof.

A dull click sounded from beneath them, “GO! Jaskier, go!”

The sudden flood of water pushed them forward, roaring in their ears. Jaskier swam forward, pushed ahead by a strong hand at his back. He tripped slightly over the stairs, catching himself of the railing. Dread pooled in his stomach as he turned back, Geralt no where in sight.

“GERALT!?”

The white-haired man popped his head up, gasping for air, scrambling forward.

Quickly connecting their hands, the two raced up the stairs, adrenaline thrumming though them. Around them, the ship creaked, water growing heavy in it.

A small tinge of fear tugged at his heart. Realistically, they might not make it. They both could end up at the bottom of the Atlantic, forgotten amongst the midst of others.

But a warm grip around his hand brough him back. No, they were going to make it, they had to. They simply had to.

****

Jaskier heaved, feet growing heavy, weighted down by his soaked clothing. Geralt pulled him forward, going against the heavy lineage of the ship.

They passed into the brandy room, carts of liquor and cigars rolling eerily past them. China shattering as the boat around them groaned. As he passed the fireplace, Jaskier spotted someone.

“Mr. Borch?” He breathed, stopping next to the man.

The alpha looked so drained, staring into the burning fire of the pit, soft brown eyes reflecting the dancing flames.

“Oh, Julian,” he muttered, head turning sadly.

“You’re not even going to try?”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t build you a stronger ship, young Julian,” the alpha professed, a small apologetic smile on his face.

Dread filled Jaskier, this was the one person who watched him grow. Borch was always so kind, so truthful, he’d given Jaskier a silent strength, knowing looks and approving smiles. He was just going to disappear with the boat he created?

“Come on, Jaskier, we don’t have much time, we have to go,” Geralt pressed, once again grabbing hold of the omegas hand, but gentler this time.

‘Wait!” The old man called, he reached for a life jacket that lay on a chair beside him, “Good luck to you…Jaskier.”

He pressed the white jacket to the young man, eyes welling with tears.

“And to you,” Jaskier breathed, hands trembling as he took hold of the article, arms reaching to pull the man into a tight hug.

The two ran, pushing through the revolving doors, leaving all the broken man behind. That loss weighed heavy in Jaskier’s heart, but he knew it had to be done. He knew that Borch would go down with this ship he’d spent his life making.

All Jaskier could do was hope that they wouldn’t.

****

Everywhere was chaos.

Complete and utter chaos.

Anxiety and fear filled the air, screams drowned out the thudding of Jaskier’s heartbeat. Pushing and shoving happened all around them, hands tugging onto railing, gripping onto their loved ones.

A firm grip was felt on his wrist, it was his alpha.

“WE HAVE TO STAY ON THE BOAT FOR AS LONG AS POSSIBLE!” He roared over the shouting.

They elbowed their way to the back of the ship, swerving their way through the throng of people. The alpha guided them, grunting as he shoved people, eventually pushing Jaskier before him.

“Here I walk, into the valley of the shadow of death- “A man muttered, slowly descending a flight of stairs.

“Want to walk a little faster to that valley there?!” Jaskier quipped, a hand shoving the man up, causing him to hiccup on his steps, but Geralt caught him.

They continued to move heir way into the crowd, using the railing to lunge themselves toward the back of the ship. Around them, others were giving up, clinging to the last chances of life they had. A priest read scriptures and prayers aloud, groups of people clinging to his hands, begging God for forgiveness and guidance in their last hours.

The stern of the ship rose, propellers lifting into the air, rocking passengers off their feet. It sent many tumbling into the freezing waters below them, screams and cries echoing in the cold night air.

Geralt reached the stern first, wrapping his arm under the railing, before securely tucking his omega into his side. Jaskier’s breathing was sharp and ragged, clutching to the man before him, eyes squeezing shut at the sounds that surrounded them. Fear shot through him, this was it, he was going to die, Jaskier was going to die.

“It’ll all be over soon,” a mother whispered into her child’s hair, eyes wet with tears.

The omega turned his head away, unable to bear the sight, and he spotted a thick set of raven curls, it was Romani.

The young girl clung to the stern, bracketed to them by her brother, who heaved.

She offered him a sad smile, tears flowing down her face, paled of color. The girl was shivering, breath visible in the cold air.

Even with the fear that rang loudly through him, a deep shock of familiarity followed it, “Geralt,” he breathed, pulling back to look the alpha in the eyes, “This is where we first met…”

Geralt stared at him, eyes searching his own sadly, pressing a firm kiss to the omega’s temple, holding him closer, heart thundering in his chest.

“Don’t talk like that,” he muttered, kissing away Jaskier’s tears, swallowing his sobs.

Suddenly, the light around them flickered off, shrouding them in darkness. A sharp shriek ran out and a deep shudder ran through the ship, filtering through the deck and trembling through Jaskier.

A loud, ear shattering groan crept from the ships middle. The ship began to split, the wooden floors of the Titanic splintering under the sharp weight of the water.

As quickly as the Titanic rose into the air, it fell back down into the Atlantic. Screams and rushed scrambles for purchase erupted around them. With a sharp scream, Jaskier held on tighter to the alpha beside him.

“WE HAVE TO MOVE!” Geralt yelled, voice rising over the screams of those beside him. He climbed over the stern, fingers clinging to the railing. The broken steerage began to rise, sinking slowly into the water.

“I’ve got you; I won’t let go,” the alpha promised, arms flexing as he pulled the omega over.

The brunette tanked himself over, stepping cautiously onto the exposed ledge

People cried, gut wrenching crunches of bones and the punch of skin crashing into the stray furniture on their way down to the ocean.

Above him, Geralt bracketed him in. Slivery hair falling into his field of vision, chest heaving. His hands trembling as they gripped onto the rail. He cast a look beside him, catching a glimpse at Romani and Armani. The raven twins gasping out, tears filling their eyes.

“Romani,” Geralt said, outstretching a hand to the young omega, “I’ll pull you- “

The girl screamed, falling down, hands flaying as she attempted to reach out for her brother. He shouted her name, eyes filling with more tears.

He looked to the mates, a lost look in his face, eyes vacant and empty. He was breathing harshly, eyes squeezing shut as if he was weighing his options, but then they reopened. This young alpha had decided, and Jaskier feared that look because he knew that look. He had that same look in his eye the night he and Geralt met.

“No!” Jaskier prompted, “Armani, please, don’t- “

But with a weak smile, the green-eyed boy let go. Fingers loosening around the rail and falling to the rushing sea below them, tugged down by grief, dragged into the depths of the ocean to join his sister.

The omega screamed, breathing becoming ragged, eyes widening. Above him a small, almost inaudible, whine was heard, Geralt had just lost two of his friends. His breath appeared in front of him as puffs of white smoke.

The world was crashing around him, collapsing into shambles. Three days ago, his biggest worry was getting married to an alpha he didn’t love, now, his biggest fear was trying to keep him and his mate alive.

His ears began to fill with the rush of his heart, roaring and shattering the remains of his bravery.

But a warm touch surged through him. Through the cold midnight wing, and the freezing Atlantic water, there was Geralt. Strong and steady beside him, gently holding onto him. The alpha’s presence caused him to come to peace, his heart slowed in his chest, breathing becoming more even.

“The ship is going to suck us down,” Geralt gasped, “Take a deep breath when I say, kick for the surface and keep kicking!” His breath fanned his ear.

The omega clutched his mates’ hand, head turning to look the alpha in the eyes, “I trust you, Geralt,” he whispers.

Geralt gives him a small smile, golden eyes warm and beautiful, he leans their foreheads together, “Do not let go of my hand.”

The deep murky waters of the Atlantic continue to pull the ship down, sucking it further into the depths of the ocean. Frigid air whips around them, causing Jaskier to press painfully forward, hipbone digging into the railing. Droplets of water splash onto them and fear dances through him. But above all, trust radiates from their connected palms, they trust each other; they love each other.

“READY!?” Geralt hollers, voice raising over the roaring waves, “NOW!”

Jaskier sucks in a deep breath, the cold air burning his lungs. He stares into the waters, adrenaline shooting through him, this was it, he had to survive; he wanted to survive.

The water is sharp and painful, submerging the omega in a wave of needles and pricks or freezing Atlantic. He kicks out his legs, hand clutching Geralt’s. The water burns, stabbing at his muscles and at his lungs. Suddenly, there is a sharp pull, and Geralt is yanked away from him, pulled into the suction of the sinking ship.

The brunette continues to reach out, flailing his hand, desperately trying to feel for his mate.

He reconnects with the surface in a painful gasp, lungs worn. The world around him erupts in water and screams, panic and worry, loss and confusion.

He shouts out for Geralt, turning in the water, heavy life jacket keeping him afloat, “GERALT!?”

But he gets no response, only the cries of thousands of other doomed souls.

“GERALT?!” A hand reaches out, and a momentary feeling of relief fills his core, but his head is pushed under water. Someone using him as a flotation device, fingers digging painfully into his hair.

“NO-!” He cries, squirming in their grasp, wrestling his way out. He’s submerged again, gasping in a large gulp of Atlantic water, stinging and burning its way down. Tears spring to his eyes, water rushes around his ears, filling his nose.

Suddenly, he’s being pulled from the water, the grip on his head loosening.

It’s Geralt, his Geralt.

“SWIM!” The alpha shouts, hand clutching at Jaskier’s life jacker, “I need you to swim!”

They move their way through the horde of swarming people, pushing their way through the water.

“Here!” Geralt gasps, pulling Jaskier closer, dragging him to a piece of floating wood.

The omega struggles, limbs cold and heavy, but manages to make it on. Beside him, Geralt makes an attempt to climb on, but the wood begins to tilt, throwing them both off.

The alpha stills, leaving the wood to his mate.

“You’ll be alright,” He sooths, reconnecting their hands, pressing their temples together.

They hear a thrashing from behind them, water kicking up, and Geralt turns, “There’s only enough for him, you’ll push it under.”

The man that approaches them stutters out, “L-Let me try at l-least. I-If not I’ll d-die soon!”

Unwavering, a growl builds in his throat, “You’ll die sooner if you come any closer.”

The man pauses, looking between the two and nodding, “Yes. Yes, I see. Good luck to you then,” he mutters, “And God bless.”

Geralt turns back to Jaskier, shivering, body tensing in the water, “It’ll be ok,” he bargains, jaw hardening, “It’ll all be ok.”

****

The world around them grew quiet, no screams, no screeching of a whistle, only their labored breathing.

“It’s g-gone quiet,” Geralt stutters, chin resting on the plank of wood, hand clutching onto Jaskier’s.

“They’ll come back,” Jaskier states, pressing a small kiss to the back of his mates’ hand, “They have- have to.”

His eyes trail Geralt, heart wrenching at the sight of his pale skin and blue lips, bright gaze glazed over and tired, silvery hair filled with frost.

“I- I don’t know about y-you, G-Geralt, but I intend,” he trailed off, overtaken with a shiver, “B-But I intend on writing a very s-strongly w-worded l-letter to the White Star Line a-about all t-this.”

The alpha huffs out, breath forming a white smog, but gives him no answer.

“L-Let’s switch,” the omega offers, scooting off the plank only to be stopped by a strong hand.

“Absolutely not,” Geralt grits out, adjusting himself on the wood, “You’re staying on there.”

“I-I’m not a flower, Geralt, I can handle cold water.”

With a smirk, the alpha retorts, “No, n-no you can’t. You-you’re st-still a f-fillingless pie.”

The air around them is so cold, so harsh. It burns his skin, burns his lungs. Breathing has become difficult, every breath is an inhale of sharp knives, hoping for a savior that may never come.

He looks at his alpha, there are so many things he wants to say, so many things he wants to do. There’s too much to thank him for and not enough time, so instead, he settles on the one thing that’s been weighing on his tongue, “I love you, Geralt.”

The white-haired man turns to him, a small scolding glint in his eye, “D-Don’t do that, Jaskier,” he whispered, teeth chattering, “D-Don’t s-say your goodbyes. I-It’s n-not you’re time to g-g-o.”

They fall into silence, before he continues, “Y-You’re g-going to get out of here,” he nods, “Y-you’re going to go and sing, and write music. Yo-You’re going to make people hear that fillingle-less pie of yours because you’re not going to die. Not now, do you understand me?”

Jaskier nods, jerky and uncoordinated, body going numb.

“W-Winning that damn ticket,” Geralt admits, “Was the best thing th-that could have happened to me,” He smiles, “It brought me to you, Jaskier.”

Of course, in the midst of the world falling apart, Geralt Rivia smiles, lips blue and cold, hair frozen, body shaking the frigid waters of the Atlantic, he smiles. And Jaskier smiles back, he smiles back because the world around him is so cold and yet he feels so warm. Fueled by the man before him, warmed by the hand clasped around his.

“I ne-need you t-to promise me this one thing, Jaskier,” the alpha gasps, eyes wincing, “I-I need you to promise me that you’ll survive. No matter what happens, not m-atter how hopeless- “He’s cut off, a painful shudder passing through him, “Promise me now, Jaskier.”

The omega relents, tears falling from his eyes, cutting their way down his cheeks, “I-I promise, Geralt, I promise.”

“Never let go of that promise.”

“I’ll never let go of that promise.”

The mates press a kiss to the backside of each other hands, fanning their breath over the freezing skin. They whisper their ‘I love you’s into the skin, stapling each other onto their bodies. Promising each other that even though the world is falling apart, they aren’t.

The press of their lips is cold, it is burning, but it’s beautiful. Love surges through them, chasing away the freezing water and unforgiving wind. It fills the surrounding silence, it fills the silence within them.

“I love you, Jaskier.”

“I love you, Geralt.”

And he meant it, he really meant it.

****

“Toss a coin to your Witcher oh Valley of plenty, oh Valley of plenty,” he sang weakly, voice coarse and unused.

Jaskier gazed at the night sky, body unmoving and cold, tears frozen on his cheeks. The world around him was quiet, so very quiet. The sky above him twinkled, stars bright and beautiful, they burned his gaze.

There was a dull tug on his hand, a dull presence, it was Geralt. It would always be Geralt.

He fought to keep his eyes open, the deep abyss of darkness was so warm, so inviting.

A warm light flashed on his face, carefully and softly. It crept across his skin, the nerves within him jumped. The person spoke but it sounded stilled and distorted.

He turned, “G-Geralt,” he breathed, shaking his hand, “T-There’s a boat…”  
But the alpha lay there, arm cold and heavy, face glassy.

“Geralt.”

He didn’t move, face pressed against the cold wood, hair frozen, skin white.

“Geralt,” The omega whined, fresh tears springing to his eyes, “P-Please…wake up…”

He cried, small, broken whimpers, hands ghosting over his mate’s features, “…Geralt…”

But the white-haired man didn’t move, he didn’t even breathe. His body was frozen, taken by the unforgiving Atlantic waters, consumed by the tragedy of the titanic.

Jaskier lay his head down, resting on top of their still connected hands. Dread passed through him. He was going to die here, he thought as he watched the light beginning to fade away, the boat behind to drift further away.

He was going to die here with the man he loved, with the man who loved him, he was going to die here with Geralt Rivia. He was going to die with the artist from everywhere, the one who drew naked omegas but never fell in love with them, who hated speaking but loved conversation. He was going to fade away with the man who saved his life, who gave him life, he was going to lay here and die with the one person in this world that saw him.

He’d die here, on this frozen plank of wood, cold and alone.

But he couldn’t, he just couldn’t.

“Come back,” he cried, lifting his head, voice burning in his throat.

“Come back,” he repeated, growing in volume. He couldn’t die here, not when he’d promised Geralt so many things. Not when the alpha died trying to grant him another shot of life. He wouldn’t let his sacrifice go to waste, but in order to do that, he had to let Geralt go.

Turning to the man in question, he pressed another kiss to his frozen hand before tearing it away, “I-I love you, Geralt.”

Slowly, he lowered the man away, clutching onto his hand, tears clouding his vision, “I-I wo-won’t let go,” He promised, hands trembling, “I w-will never let go of our p-promise.”

“G-Geralt, I-I won’t let go.”

The alpha sank down, silvery hair floating around him. The dark hands of the ocean welcomed him, gently tugging him downwards. The love of his life disappeared into the murky waters, eyes sealed, hand outstretched, heart still beating against Jaskier’s. His heart would always beat with Jaskier’s.

Jaskier watched him float away, heart wrenching. But he had to live. He had to survive, who else would speak of Geralt Rivia otherwise.

Slowly and painfully, he shimmied off the plank of wood, falling back into the freezing water. He made his way over to a frozen man, yanking a whistle from his lips and raising it to his own.

He blew into it harshly, body shaking with effort. It screeched around him, echoing though the empty night air. The warm light was cast on his face again, the sound drawing them back.

His eyes slipped shut, relishing in the warmth the light provided. He wanted to cry; he wanted to scream; he wanted to be saved. But he’d already been saved. The one man in the world that saved him, that loved him, was now at the bottom of the ocean, resting with the titanic.

****

That ancient sound of the whistle blowing echoed around him, “1,500 went into the sea when Titanic sank from under us. There were twenty boats floating nearby, and only one came back,” Jaskier recalled, a lump growing in his throat, “One.”

Around him, tears fell down the faces of the crew, Ciri stared at him, sadness swimming in her ocean eyes. Mousesack had a hand over his mouth, pressing against his lips tightly. They all stared at the omega in shock, floored by his story, by his trauma.

“Six were saved from the water, myself included. Six,” He breathed, body still shaking, “Out of 1,500. Afterward, the 700 people in the boats had nothing to do but wait, wait to die, wait to live, wait for an absolution that would never come…”

The omega remembered being saved, pulled onto a new boat. The people there were generous and kind, understanding. They helped him, covered him in a warm blanket and handed him a hot drink.

When chaos had begun to settle, they placed Jaskier on a steerage deck. Not that he minded. One day, he felt a presence behind him, and accompanied by it was that smell of too strong musk. It was Emhyr.

“That’s the last I ever saw him,” he states, voice dismissive and bored, “He married, of course, and inherited his millions. But the crash of ’29, hit his interest hard, and he put a pistol in his mouth that year,” he rolled his eyes, “Or so I read.”

****

The rain trickled down, gently gliding over his face, but he paid no mind. This water was kinder than that of the ocean, it wasn’t cold; it was a nice gentle stream of water.

“Can I get your name please, love?” A man questioned; clipboard raised.  
Jaskier thought for a second, eyes trialing the Statue of Liberty, “It’s Rivia,” he answered finally, “Julian Rivia.”

The man stalked away, leaving Jaskier alone with the weight of an unfamiliar name. With a sigh, he dug his hands into his pockets, and his eyebrows shot up when he felt a heavy presence in them.

Gingerly, he pulled the object out, a dry laugh bubbling in his throat.

He couldn’t believe it, but there it was, glittering up at him, raindrops sliding down the icy surface of the diamond: The heart of the ocean.

****

“We never found anything on Geralt Rivia,” Mousesack said solemnly, “There’s no record of him at all.”

“No, there wouldn’t be, would there?” He quipped, lips corners twitching, “And I’ve never spoken of him until now, not to anyone.”

“A person’s heart is a deep ocean of secrets,” the omega went on, eyes glazing over in ancient memory, going back and dipping down through the frigid waters of the Atlantic to the warmth of Geralt’s gaze, “But now you know there was an alpha named Geralt Rivia and that he saved me. He saved me in every way a person can be saved.”

“I don’t even have a picture of him,” the omega frowned, gaze traveling to his hands, “He exists now only in my memory.

But he’d never leave. All these years later, he could still feel the warm grip of the alpha on his hand, the fondness of his gaze, the explosion of happiness when he smiled.

He remembered it all.

****

That night, when he retired to his room, a small meek knock came from the door.

“Yes?” He croaked, turning from his small vanity.

Duny poked his head in, eyes apologetic, head bowed, “Hi, Jaskier, I-I just had a question.”

With a smile, Jaskier answered, fingers nimbly tugging on a drawer, “Do I know where the heart of the ocean is? Yes. Yes, I do.”

The young beta looked up, eyes wide and confused, but Jaskier just giggled.

He tugged it from his drawer, hidden in a small box, “The hardest thing about being so poor, was being so rich.”

It gleamed in the low cabin light, catching the reflection of Duny, “You’ve had it this whole time!”

“I came on here for my own reasons, Mr. Erlenwald,” the omega offered, gesturing for the man to sit down.

“C-Can I hold it?”

The brunette thought for a moment, this dreaded thing was so heavy, so unnecessary, “I’ll do you one better, I’ll give it to you.”

“Are you serious?!”

“Why of course. I’ve held on to that dreaded necklace for years,” he smiled fondly, “And I made it without using it. Without using his money or my mother’s money.”

Duny smiled at the omega, eyes welling with tears, “I-I have something for you too.”

From behind him, he pulled out a folder; it was worn and looked as if it was about to fall apart, but to Jaskier it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

“We recovered it with your drawing, and we managed to keep them intact, they’re yours,” he stated, smiling widely at the older man, eyes still tracing the necklace.

Jaskier took he folder, dropping the piece of jewelry into the betas palm, fingers trembling as they closed around the folder. Memories surged through him, life surged through him, Geralt surged through him.

The soft click of the door sounded throughout the room, Duny slipped away.

This left the omega alone. With trembling hands he pressed the folder to his chest, a small sob escaping his lips. The years were hard, even harder without Geralt, but he’d lived them. He lived life for the two of them, traveling the world, riding horseback across a beach, going to Paris, creating music for others to see, to hear.

He’d lived this life hew as granted to its fullest, but a dull pull tugged on his soul. It was time to lie down to rest. It was time to see Geralt again.

****

He awoke with a start, a small gasp entering his body as he sat up. Surprise shot through him, he sat up with little to no ache, no pain, no resistance, something he’d found quite difficult as he grew older.

But he understood, the surrounding air was older, calmer.

Jaskier stood, looking into the mirror of his room, smiling at his reflection. A bright omega stared back at him, kind eyes and sharp wit, strong willed and forgiving. His hair was swept back, his eyes were renewed and awake, the blue that danced in them rivaled the sky. He was 17 again.

The brunette found his way out of his cabin, stumbling across the familiar halls, hands ghosting the wood, the carpets, the walls.

Everything was beautiful, everything was truly fit to be on the ship of dreams.

He took his time, slowly drifting down the deck. Breathing in the air of the great sea, sparking ocean and dazzling sky, the salt hug low in the calm breeze, the sun danced across his skin.

The halls were empty, but not abandoned. The air silent, but not eerily so. It was all so welcoming, so warm.

“Lost?” Two voices said in unison.

He turned, a huff of laughter falling from his lips, Romani and Armani.

“We’ve waited for you,” they breathed, voice’s kind. The twins took his hands, gently leading him to a door, “He’s waited for you.”

Jaskier looked at the two, eyes wide and curious. As he pushed the doors open, a warm surge of remembrance met him. Trudy waving at him, cheeks pulled apart in a smile.

Yennefer waiting by the steps, a beckoning hand, “Well, don’t keep him waiting,” the alpha teased.

The omega nodded, breath catching in his throat when a warm hand reached out for his shoulder, “Welcome, Young Jaskier.” Borch smiled down at him, kind brown eyes still tinted with intelligence.

But it was the person at the top of the staircase that caught his eye.

He faced away from him, eyes fixed on the clock, hands tucked deep into his pockets, suspenders pulled over his chest. Silvery hair pulled back, away from his face. He leaned on the railing of the stairs, the smell of eucalyptus and spearmint gently rolling off of him.

It was Geralt, his Geralt.

The alpha turned, smiling and extending his hand, pulling his mate closer, always closer.

A sob left Jaskier’s lips. It was him; it was really him.

“Geralt?” Jaskier breathed, voice strained with tears, “Geralt.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt answered, voice cool and unwavering, smooth and warm, “Jaskier.”

A strong arm snaked around him, pulling him closer. Their chests met. They looked each other in the eye, unable to be apart any longer, Jaskier leaned in, eyes slipping shut.

Geralt met him halfway, he always met him halfway, and connected their lips. The kiss was an apology, was a confession, was a fulfillment of a promise.

The kiss was enough to finally tie their two souls together forever; it was enough to finally put Jaskier to rest. He’d lived his life and now, he’d be able to live after it with the man he loved, with the man who saved him. He’d be able to board the titanic again but do so without fearing ever leaving. Without fear of hating what happened after.

This time he wasn’t alone.

This time he had Geralt, the warm grip on his hand that never let go. The kind presence behind him that told him he could. The smell of spearmint and eucalyptus, of charcoal and sunlight. The gaze on him that was never hungry, but always loving, always curious. The warm feeling in his chest, that set him ablaze, that thawed him from the frozen confides of tragedy.

He had Geralt Rivia, and this time, he didn’t have to let him go

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I really appreciate it! So, I'll clear a few things up:
> 
> 1) At first, I thought that Emhyr was a completely different character. I got about half way into the story until I finally realized that the character I was envisioning was a completely different man.  
> 2) Borch is Andrews because I loved Andrews in the movie and I love Borch, so, I put him as Borch. Who tragically died.  
> 3) The twins Romani and Armani are my OC's. I added them to show Jaskier in a more maternal light...In reality, I really just wanted to see Jaskier with kids, sue me.  
> 4) Yes, the children DO make it. I was debating if I should write it so that Jaskier adopts the children, but that's open to your interpretation.  
> 5) Yes, I did change the ending. I hated what Rose did at the end, I know it was symbolic, but I always felt bad for Lovett. So, I fixed it, just a bit.  
> 7) This took me 10 days to write, it was very long a tedious.  
> 8) Yes, most of the dialogue is from the actual movie, but I did my best to add in quotes and little bits of banter between Geralt and Jaskier.  
> 9) I really enjoyed writing this, but there were days when I was just straight up writing down the dialogue and forgetting to put any ACTUAL context to the writing. So, some of the parts are sketchy and blotchy, I'm sorry.  
> 10) Geratlt and Jaskier are my babies and putting them thorough so much angst was hard, but I did it becuse it is what I do best :)  
> 11) Geralt is the one to give Jaskier his nickname. So, that’s why it doesn’t appear until then, and it changes. If he sees himself as more free and daring, the way he feels when he’s with Geralt, then he’ll refer to himself as Jaskier. But if he feels broken down or hopeless, the way he does with his family, he’ll call himself Julian.  
> I hope you enjoyed reading, I really appricate you reading all the way thorugh. 
> 
> Please, pLEASE, leave me a kudos or comment. At the very LEAST, a comment, please. It can be anything, corrections, what you'd like to read next, or just your thoughts. 
> 
> (P.S. I’m considering rewriting this in Geralt POV, but I’ll only do that if this does well lol, writing it in Jaskier’s was heartbreaking. But if you guys truly want it, I’ll do it. You’ll be able to see his side of the story, more Yennefer, more Triss, and more of those two OC’s. I dont know, let me know what you guys think.)
> 
> THANK YOU <3
> 
> I am in need of a beta reader, so, if you’re interested or know someone who is. Please comment down below💕


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